


Dance 'Til You Drop

by notafamousperson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Faeries - Freeform, First Kiss, I don't want to give anything away, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Stiles, Post-Season/Series 02, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, but there's a very slightly gorey scene so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notafamousperson/pseuds/notafamousperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course he was the one, out of the whole pack, that got kidnapped. The one that was decidedly not a supernatural creature or a badass hunter. By faeries, nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance 'Til You Drop

**Author's Note:**

> *EDIT* So, sometime in the future (hopefully soon), I am going to fix this fic. Plot holes, grammatical errors, all of that. Just so you know that I know that there's a lot of mistakes. Believe me, I know.

Fear boners.

It was just fear boners. What else could he expect when Derek pushed him up against a wall and growled threats in his ear? Not getting turned on, that's for sure. So yeah, fear boners. It's a thing. Look it up.

He didn't even _like_  Derek. He was an ass. A very attractive ass, yes, but his personality could use some improvement. The guy acted like a crazy, psycho murderer ninety percent of the time, and the other ten percent he spent brooding. Stiles was most certainly not attracted to a brooding, psycho murderer.

Not at all.

Okay, that was a blatant lie, but could you blame him? Even when Derek was doing the whole growly, I'm-The-Alpha stare/glare thing, his body was _still_  something straight out of Stiles' dirtiest fantasies.

Stiles certainly wouldn't object to Derek letting him climb him like a tree. Or straddle him like a horse. Or letting Stiles stretch him out like a rubber band, he wasn't picky.

But he really shouldn't start having inappropriate sex fantasies in the middle of a room full of werewolves that could smell arousal. That would be awkward.

"Uh, Stiles?" And now Scott was looking at him with his nose wrinkled up. Definitely awkward. But hey! Stiles was a hormonal teenager, what did they expect?

"I'm a hormonal teenager, what do you guys expect?"

"I, for one, expect you to focus on what's important. People are disappearing, Stiles, innocent people. Or do you not care?" Derek glared at him, and Stiles glared back, because there was no way that he was going to back down like one of Derek's betas. He wasn't, because he may be pack, but Derek wasn't in control of him. Stiles didn't feel the need to cower behind something when he met his eyes, or bare his throat whenever Derek growled, and he was damn well gonna make sure that Derek knew it.

"Oh, I do care. Especially given the fact that I could very well be the next one to disappear, but I also know that there's nothing we can do about it right now."

When met with nothing but a cold stare from Derek and multiple looks of anxiety and exasperation from the others, he continued, "I honestly don't even know why I'm here right now when I could be at home getting intimate with my right hand. Like I usually do on Wednesday nights." Everyone collectively gagged and Derek glared harder, eyes flaring red.

"You're here because you'd probably end up getting yourself killed if we left you alone. You should be grateful instead of acting like a whiny little _brat_ ," Derek said, spitting the last three words, and Stiles decided that he'd had enough. He shot up out of his seat and stalked toward Derek, knowing that his actions looked like a challenge even if he wasn't intimidating, and not caring in the slightest.

"Oh, so that's it? Tiny, defenseless Stiles needs to be protected because he can't protect himself?" Stiles yelled, ignoring the low warning growl that was making it's way up Derek's throat. Stiles was pretty sure that the betas would have backed off if it was directed at one of them, but like he said, _not Derek's beta_.

Derek grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him forcefully against the wall. He got close to Stiles' ear and bit out, "Yes, Stiles. I do need to protect you because you'd get yourself killed if I wasn't always there to save your ass."

"You know, that sounded more like a love declaration than a threat," Stiles ground out, trying to pull Derek's hands off of his jacket to no avail, because they wouldn't budge. Seriously, though, this was his favorite jacket, and if it got stretched out because of Derek's supernatural strength, Stiles was going to be pissed. Well, more pissed than he was now.

"Wow. You could cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife," Erica muttered, and Stiles felt his cheeks heat up, a blush spreading from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. He wasn't turned on, his blood was just pumping because he was angry. It was an understandable reaction.

"Shut up, Erica," Derek growled without looking away from Stiles, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Derek Hale, everyone, professional wordsmith! Derek let Stiles go, shoving him back against the wall one last time before turning away with his stupid muscley fucking arms crossed. Stiles thought that his biceps might actually be the size of watermelons. No, he was angry. Angry people didn't think about watermelon sized arms unless they were worried about getting punched, and Stiles knew Derek would never take it that far. The most he did was push him up against walls and growl a lot. "Go, Stiles. Don't expect me to come running to save you if you get yourself kidnapped."

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to come begging for your help and forgiveness any time soon," Stiles told him, walking towards the door and straightening his jacket with force. From the looks of it, the thing was totally ruined.

He made his way down the stairs two at a time and slammed the door to his jeep when he got in. Then, of course, he apologized to her because it wasn't her fault that Derek was an ass, and she was a good car that didn't deserve his crap.

He'd just started the car and driven off, when he decided that, yeah, he needed some angry music to dispel some of his pent up aggression. He pressed the button to turn on his radio, and gagged when he touched something gooey. Maybe eating curly fries with ketchup in the car was a bad idea, but hey, Stiles didn't mind cleaning up a little bit afterwards if it meant that he could eat any time, any place, because this was America, dammit. When he looked over at his hand, though, whatever he touched was glowing and sparkly and definitely not ketchup. It looked like something that would come out of a radioactive alien egg sack.

And it apparently had the same effects that Stiles would expect something that came out of a radioactive alien egg sack to have because the next thing he knew, his vision was getting blurry and he was tired. Like, he needed to go to sleep, like, right now. He was slightly aware of his car swerving and aware enough to know that was bad, but he passed out before he could do anything about it.

When he woke up, some dude with green, spiked up hair was carrying him. He had light green skin, and he was shimmering like he was made out of water. What the _actual fuck_ , was Stiles drugged? He flailed and fell out of the guy's arms and scrambled away, his back hitting a tree, because of _course_ they were in the woods, because Stiles was being _kidnapped_ , and he was going to _die a fucking virgin_.

"You were not supposed to wake until we arrived at our destination," Creepy Green Watery Dude said, voice extremely sane for a completely insane supernatural kidnapper. Now that Stiles could see his whole body, he realized that the guy was at least seven feet tall and his clothes looked like something you'd see at a club, tight and form-fitting, low on his chest and hips, except they're made out of some leaflike material.

"Who the hell are you? No, wait, _what_  the hell are you?" Stiles asked, voice high and panicked, and his heart was beating so loudly that he could barely hear around it.

"My name is Oren. I am of the Fae Folk," he said. Stiles blanched, wide-eyed and choking, and really, now wasn't the time to have a panic attack.

"Like... faeries? You're a– shit, I'm so fucked," Stiles groaned, tugging at his hair forcefully. Of course _he_  was the one, out of the whole pack, that got kidnapped. The one that was decidedly not a supernatural creature or a badass hunter. By faeries, nonetheless. He'd read about them at Deaton's and they were nothing to mess around with.

"Do not worry, human. I wish you no harm," Oren said, and Stiles couldn't help the snort that bubbled up from his throat.

"Really? Because I don't know if you've noticed, you probably have, but people have been disappearing lately and they haven't been coming back! I'm pretty sure that kidnapping people is harmful! Very harmful!" Stiles shrieked, backing away further when Oren began to walk towards him. His ankle protested when he moved it, and he was pretty sure that it was, at least, sprained.

He stuck his hand in something gooey again, and he looked down to see it covered in the same nasty, sparkly glowing stuff that was in his car and he groaned. "What is this stuff? Please tell me I haven't been touching faerie snot. I don't know how flu season works for you guys, but I haven't gotten my flu shot this year, and I really don't feel like getting sick and being kidnapped all in the same day."

"That is faerie dust," Oren told him, monotone, as he picked him up again and his head lolled back. He didn't seem to be much of a fan of contractions.

"Not very dusty," he mumbled, right before he passed out for the second time.

***

He woke up to a loud, pounding beat and people dancing all around him. For a second, Stiles thought that maybe he was roofied at Jungle, until the memories of Oren and the faerie dust came back to him. Well, this just fucking sucked, he thought. All he wanted to do was go home, take off his pants, put his right hand to good use and watch some Netflix. Instead, here he was, the fourth kidnapping victim and maybe probably dying a virgin. His dad was going to be crushed. About the dying thing, not the virgin thing. Though, maybe knowing that his son had no game whatsoever would be even more upsetting.

"Hey, Stiles," a feminine voice said from above him, and he lifted his head to see a woman that looked to be in her early twenties standing over him. "Wanna dance?"

Stiles was prepared to say _hell no, I don't want to dance_ , he was prepared to demand to know where he was and what was happening, but then... he really wanted to dance. The song that was playing was _amazing_ , even though it didn't even really sound like music. All he knew was that it was a really good beat, and he had to dance to it immediately, and maybe never stop dancing. Ever. "Yeah, I really do."

She smiled at him, and Stiles noticed that her teeth were razor sharp. Stiles then noticed that what he first thought was curly red hair was actually fire. In fact, her whole body looked like it was on fire, now that he was paying attention.

Stiles stood up, and the faerie led him out on the dance floor. "Wait, how'd you know my name?" Stiles suddenly asked, confusion temporarily breaking the beat's hold on him.

"I know a lot of stuff," she answered, like that explanation made any sense at all. Stiles just nodded, because thinking was hard, and he was too focused on the music to have a conversation right now, anyway.

"This is, like, reeeaaally great, you know. I love this," he called out after a few minutes of dancing, breaking out in giggles and feeling warm all over. Or was he too hot? He was busy dancing to determine the difference.

"That's good," she responded, swaying her hips in time with the beat. She looked at him with a secretive gleam in her eye that should have made Stiles uneasy, but at the moment, he thought it would be impossible to make him feel uneasy. "You can stay if you want. Do you want to stay, Stiles?"

"You know, you never told me your name. And why you're on fire. And that guy, he was all watery, but he was green, and as far as I know, water's only green in New Jersey," Stiles slurred out. He was dizzy and sweaty, but he couldn't stop dancing and he didn't know why.

"My name's Orlaith," she told him. Stiles' head was fuzzy, and he didn't think to ask about the second and third questions again. Who needed to think when they were dancing? There was nothing to think about. "So, do you want to stay?"

"I– " Stiles began, but a loud howl followed by a snarl cut him off. It also snapped him out of his hazy, drugged state. "What the hell–"

Orlaith's eyes turned black, and her hair flared up in outrage. "Why is there a werewolf pack here? Who the hell let you in?" She spoke louder now, clearly directed at whoever snarled/howled. Harled. Snowled. "We've only taken humans, we haven't hurt your pack!"

Then Derek, shifted into beta form, broke through the crowd of people– no, faeries, those were definitely all faeries– and stalked towards Orlaith. "He is one of our pack, and we protect this town. By hurting anyone in it, you're challenging us. You have invaded Hale territory, and as the Queen of the Fae, you're accountable for the kidnappings your people have done in it."

"You think that was a challenge? How's this for a challenge?" Orlaith, the _fucking faerie queen_ , shrieked in outrage and hurled a fireball at Derek's head. Stiles sucked in a breath, his heart beat speeding up, but Derek dodged it and ran at her. The woman made out of fire. Seriously Derek, why would you run at someone that is literally made of fire? How would that _ever_  work out in your favor?

Stiles watched Derek act like an idiot for all of two seconds before he realized that he needed to find a way to help. He didn't have his bat with him, he had no prior fighting skills, and he didn't know how to use a weapon. Overall, things were not looking up. Stiles whirled around quickly, looking for anything that could help, and he spotted it. A table, full of weird liquids that Stiles would never think to consume, probably some weird potions that give you, like, tree branches for arms. Or maybe that's how they got their weird skin colors.

He ran towards the table, pushing past faeries that didn't stop dancing even though they were under attack, which made zero sense, unless– oh, the music.

He grabbed the fountain of glowing neon liquid and ran back to where the Queen and Derek were fighting. He raised it up and called out, "Hey, hothead!"

The Queen turned towards him, snarling, and Stiles dumped the fountain's contents on her. She shrieked, and Stiles grabbed Derek's arm and tried to pull him towards the rest of the pack, standing in defensive positions a few feet away. Derek didn't budge. "Derek, what are you doing? Come _on_!"

Derek shook off Stiles' grip without even looking at him. "Get off my land, or we'll have war," he said threateningly, then walked to where the rest of the pack stood, surrounding a circle of glowing mushrooms covered in faerie dust. Stiles was really getting sick of glowing things and faerie dust.

"Hey guys, what's hanging?" Stiles greeted them as he ran forward, avoiding the mushrooms. The pack, even Lydia, who would deny it till her dying day, looked relieved to see him, and Stiles felt a surge of warmth rush through him at their obvious concern.

"Stiles!" Scott exclaimed, running forward and giving him a hug. "Oh my god, you're okay!"

"Yeah, dude. I'm super. You wouldn't, by any chance, know how to get the hell out of here though, would you? The party was fun and all, but I'm sick of dancing. I may never dance again," Stiles said, letting go and backing up.

"Yeah, we just have to jump through the faerie ring," Scott told him, gesturing to the mushrooms and faerie dust that Stiles was trying his very hardest to avoid.

"Damn it. I'm so sick of faeries, you guys have no idea. I'm not even gonna say the word faerie for at least seven months," Stiles groaned.

Derek stalked towards the ring and said, "I'll go first." When he jumped through the hole, the ground inside the ring vibrated and shimmered like water.

"Holy shit," Stiles whispered to himself. Scott patted him on the back.

"Alright, who wants to go next?" Erica asked the group. Stiles did not raise his hand and took a small step back, because as much as he wanted to get away from this place, he was not up to voluntarily jumping through holes and not knowing where he would end up. Besides the voluntarily part, that was creepily similar to the plot of Alice in Wonderland, and Stiles was never too fond of that story.

"I'll go," Scott offered, jumping through the ring a few seconds later. Everyone else followed one by one, until the only ones left were Stiles and Boyd.

"After you," Stiles said, waving him forward.

"Do I need to push you, Stiles? Because I will," Boyd assured him. The sad thing was, Stiles didn't even doubt it.

"Alright, fine! I'm going," Stiles grumbled, walking up to the hole. "But count to ten before you jump in after me. I really don't feel like getting crushed today. Maybe next week." Boyd rolled his eyes and sighed.

He looked over the ring, lightly tapping the ground inside with his toe the way someone would test the water in a swimming pool. The ground vibrated, and Stiles took a deep breath, and ––

And he was jumping through, colors swirling around him like he was inside of a rainbow, and it felt like he was being stretched out and then squished back together, and there was a rushing in his ears that may have just been his blood, and his stomach was doing flips ––

As quickly as it started it stopped, and Stiles was laying on the ground wondering what the hell just happened and when his life became so complicated. Hands grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him upwards, and he yelped and fell back down because suddenly his ankle _hurt_. "Shit, my ankle."

Derek crouched down next to him. "Which one?" he asked. Stiles pointed to his left, and Derek pulled up the leg of his jeans. The ankle was purple and swollen, and now that his adrenaline or whatever faerie mojo he had on him was worn off, it was painful. Derek prodded it softly and Stiles winced. He looked up at Stiles, solemn, and said, "It might be broken."

"What? How was I walking– no, running on it, like, ten minutes ago?" Stiles exclaimed. He didn't feel it when they were taking down the Queen, so why did he feel it now?

Derek shrugged and put a hand on Stiles' ankle, his veins turning black, and Stiles sighed in relief. He put his arms under Stiles and picked him up, bridal style. It all happened so fast that Stiles couldn't process what was happening and he squeaked in confusion. "Dude! What the hell!"

"You can't walk on it." Derek responded, like that was automatically a good enough reason to pick him up like they were freaking _newlyweds_. Ignoring Stiles' squirming, Scott's gaping, Isaac and Lydia's smirking, Erica's cackling, and Allison and Boyd's silent judgement, Derek began walking. He just _had_  to resort to picking Stiles up, because _of fucking course_  that was his first idea. "Stop squirming or I'll drop you."

"I can't tell if that was a threat or just a warning," Stiles responded, stilling in his arms and _not_  pouting, shut up, Erica. How many times had he been carried today? Too many, that was how many.

"Both," Derek said, walking towards what Stiles suspected was the road through the woods.

Which reminded him. "Hey, where's my Jeep?" Derek's steps faltered slightly, and Scott made a pained noise, everyone else stilling momentarily, which, not good. "Guys?"

"Who wants to tell him?" Isaac asked the group. They then all simultaneously called out, "not it!" Even Derek muttered the words. Though Stiles couldn't tell who lost at first, Scott groaned and the others shot him sympathetic looks (except Erica, who smirked at him), so Stiles would guess that it was him.

"Uh, well. We were gonna tell you, but we wanted to wait for the right time, and–" Scott stuttered, his face scrunched up like whatever happened physically pained him. Well, news flash, Scott, you weren't the one with the broken ankle. "It's, um. It's totaled, dude. You hit a tree, and we traced your scent from the wreck back to the faerie ring."

"Oh — oh my god. I don't understand," Stiles looked up at the sky, "what I did to deserve this. I make sure dad eats healthy, I get good grades. Why?" His eyes did _not_ start to water over a car, and he would deny it even if they did. In his defense, he loved that car like it was his own newborn child.

Derek grunted and Stiles looked up at him to see his face set in a grimace. "Are you still taking away my pain? Dude, it's a possibly broken ankle, I'm not dying. Well, I might be dying a little on the inside, but there's nothing you can do about that."

"I'm fine," he said stiffly.

"You're a worse liar than I am, and I suck. Quit it," Stiles ordered, slapping his arm hard, even though Derek probably barely felt it. He glared down at Stiles anyways.

"I could drop you, you know," he said.

Stiles smirked at him. "Yeah, you could. But you're not gonna."

Derek raised an eyebrow, and for a second, Stiles thought he might actually drop him. He clutched one of Derek's biceps with both hands ( _watermelons_ , god) and quickly added, "Please don't."

Derek rolled his eyes and sighed, trying to mask a smile. Stiles saw it anyways, and if he wasn't in pain, physically _and_ emotionally, then he would've joked on him for _days_.

The Camaro sat on the side of the road in all of its beautiful glory, and Stiles exhaled in relief. "Grab my keys," Derek directed at Stiles, looking down at his jeans pocket.

"You want me to... stick my hand in your pocket?" Stiles asked him, absolutely not having an internal freak out at the possibility of having to reach his hand in Derek's pocket because of its proximity in relation to his junk, because he was totally better than that.

"How else do you expect to get in the car, Stiles? I need the keys," Derek said exasperatedly.

"Okay," Stiles breathed, "on it. Just... sticking my hand in your pocket, good." He reached under himself, blindly found Derek's jeans pocket and fumbled around for the keys. He almost dropped them when he finally got them out, but he quickly recovered, pressing the unlock button. Scott came forward and opened the passenger door, helping Derek put Stiles in the car without injuring his ankle further.

"You good, dude?" Scott asked. Stiles nodded, but he was totally lying, and he could tell that Scott knew it. His night so far had been much more traumatic than he had been anticipating.

Derek walked around to the other side of the car and got in. Allison and Lydia got in the back seat, because they were the only others that didn't have a kickass car with them or supernatural speed and strength and couldn't just run everywhere like freaks. Stiles meant that as a term of endearment, of course. Sometimes. "Where are we going?" Stiles asked when Derek started the car and headed in the opposite direction of the hospital, because _hello, broken ankle._

"Deaton's," Derek responded. Stiles stared at him with wide eyes. Scott liked to call it his what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you face, and Stiles couldn't deny that the name fit in this instance.

"Okay, I want answers just as much as the rest of you, but my ankle hurts like a bitch. I'm pretty sure it requires immediate medical attention from a doctor that specializes in treating, you know, _human beings_." Stiles told him. Derek reached over and took his hand, and Stiles could feel his heart skip a few beats. "What–"

Derek's veins turned black and sweet relief rushed through Stiles, the pain literally being sucked out of him. "We can't go to the hospital yet," Derek gruffly told him, probably trying to make up for holding someone's hand by sounding even angrier than usual.

"Deaton needs to know what happened first in case they try a counter-attack, and we need to know what the faerie dust does," Lydia added from the back seat, typing away on her phone, most likely telling her mom that she'd be home late tonight because of some party that doesn't actually exist. Stiles knew that was her go-to excuse, because her mom never cared where she was, as long as she knew. Stiles used to envy Lydia, but he didn't anymore. He knew now that it wasn't as good living with parents that didn't care as it looked.

"What, _besides_ making me pass out? Are there side effects? Is my skin going to turn various colors? Nausea, headaches, diarrhea, dizziness?" Stiles listed on his fingers, "maybe he'll just give me some pepto bismol and we can be on our way." Allison giggled quietly in the back and Derek snorted, and Stiles jumped. "Oh my god, wait– Are you laughing? Did you just laugh? That was a laugh."

"No. Shut up," Derek muttered. His grip on the wheel tightened and his knuckles whitened, and Stiles grinned, wide and mischievous. Oh, he wasn't gonna pass this one up. Not when he got a full snort out of Derek, which was so much more than just a smile. No, he was gonna use this against him for the rest of his sad, little werewolf life.

"I made a joke, and you seriously laughed. Oh my god, I think Hell has frozen over," Stiles said, ecstatic, because he'd been trying to get Derek to laugh for a little over two years now with no luck. Well, not until now, that is.

"I wasn't laughing," Derek gruffly responded, and Stiles glanced amusedly at him, then did a double take because, yeah, _Derek Hale was actually blushing_. It was harder to see behind all his manly stubble than it was when Stiles blushed, his pale complexion and smooth-like-a-baby's-ass face making it impossible to miss, but the red coloring to Derek's cheeks was definitely there.

"Holy shit, I think this is quite possibly the best day of my life. Besides, you know, getting kidnapped and crashing my car, but other than that! Today has been a good day," Stiles said, smirking at Derek when he tried to glare at him but couldn't for longer than three seconds before he had to look towards the road again. Stiles gave himself a manly victory chuckle, because he didn't giggle unless he was drugged by magical Fae music.

He was vaguely aware of Lydia and Allison having a whispered conversation behind them, but his attention was mostly on Derek for the rest of the ride, the two of them bantering back and forth.

"We're here," Derek said, releasing Stiles' hand. Stiles froze. How long were they sitting there, just holding hands and talking? From the way Lydia and Allison smirked at him, Stiles would have to say it was a large portion of the drive here. But that was fine! Derek was just taking away Stiles' pain, and sure, he could've held his forearm, but maybe it didn't work through layers of clothes. Or something. (Even though Stiles knew it worked through clothing because he'd seen Scott do it through at least three layers.)

Derek broke Stiles out of his thoughts when he opened Stiles' door. Derek looked pointedly at the seatbelt still strapped to his chest, and Stiles quickly fumbled for the buckle. "Uh– I can like, hop, or something. You don't need to– "

"Don't be stupid, Stiles," Derek said exasperatedly, moving towards him. Stiles groaned, but let him carefully maneuver his ankle out of the car. When Derek went to pick him up though, Stiles stopped him.

"Seriously, dude, I can just lean on you," Stiles said, pleading with his eyes. Derek stared at him for a minute, making Stiles squirm and blush, then he shrugged. Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek's neck and he grabbed it, holding it in place. Derek wrapped an arm around his waist, and they slowly began to make their way towards the door.

They were halfway there when Stiles slipped on something, maybe a rock, he didn't know or care, and tried to steady himself. With his possibly broken ankle! He yelped, cursing, and his eyes began to water because _that shit fucking hurt_. "Shit," Derek muttered, stopping. He grabbed Stiles' hand and took away some of Stiles' pain, the veins in his hands turning black. "Get on my back."

"Huh?" Stiles asked, still trying to recover from the excruciating pain in his leg and not focusing on much else.

"My back, Stiles. Get on it," Derek directed, standing in front of him and crouching down. "We're almost there."

Stiles thought that he was trying to be reassuring when he said that even if his tone was quite the opposite, but Stiles appreciated the effort so he obliged. Avoiding using his ankle, Stiles carefully hopped onto Derek's back and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. Stiles dutifully ignored Allison and Lydia's snickering, and took being given a piggyback ride like a man. Derek held onto Stiles' shins carefully, and they finally made it into the vet's office after what felt like an eternity. Deaton raised an eyebrow when they walked in but didn't say a word, and Lydia and Allison quickly explained what happened as Derek took Stiles to the back and sat him down on the metal examination table.

"By the way, you _totally_ came running to save me after I got myself kidnapped," Stiles informed Derek, unable to fight back the smirk on his lips. "So I win."

"Seriously, Stiles?" Derek deadpanned, an exasperated look on his face that Stiles liked to classify as fond irritation.

"Yes, seriously. And please note that I still haven't begged for help or forgiveness because I am a man of my word," Stiles replied enthusiastically. Derek glared at him, but there was no heat behind it.

Deaton then walked in, ending their conversation. "Good evening, Mr. Stilinski. Gotten ourselves in a bit of trouble, I hear?"

Stiles groaned. "Okay, no, it was _not my fault_  that I got kidnapped. Victim-blaming, so not cool."

Deaton rolled his eyes, ignoring Stiles' objection. "May I see your ankle?" he asked, stepping further into the room and putting on a pair of latex gloves as Stiles gently tugged his pant leg up. Deaton walked over and inspected it closely. "Bruising, swelling. There's no definite way to diagnose a broken bone without an x-ray, so this could just simply be a bad sprain, but I would say it looks pretty broken. I suggest you get it looked at when you leave."

"Man, my dad is gonna kill me. What about that faerie dust? Am I gonna start burping up fire? Sneezing glitter?" Stiles asked, then grimaced. "I really hate glitter."

"No, nothing like that. Faerie dust is known to have more... complicated side effects." Deaton responded, probably deliberately being vague just to piss Stiles off. Was Stiles going to grow an extra arm out of his stomach? He was afraid to ask.

"Like what?"

"Nothing of importance, unless you begin to show symptoms. It's best not to worry about it." Deaton replied. "Now, exactly where did you come into contact with the faerie dust?"

***

After Deaton did a _very thorough_  check for any symptoms of whatever the hell he was looking for and the rest of the pack showed up, Derek offered to take Stiles to the hospital, due to the fact that no one else had a car with them, and Scott made it clear that he was coming too. Thankfully, Deaton had a pair of crutches for Stiles to use in the meantime, so no one else would have to carry him. Stiles could _almost_  forgive the guy for being so vague and cryptic all the time. Emphasis on the almost.

The first half of the ride to the hospital was, well, awkward. Derek was back to brooding and letting Stiles suffer through his moderate pain, and Scott spent the whole trip giving him worried puppy eyes through the rear view mirror. The whole experience was pretty unpleasant. And the _silence._  Why wasn't anyone talking? There was definitely plenty to talk about.

"So... How bad is my car?" Stiles asked, breaking the silence.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me. Here," Scott said, searching in his pocket and coming up with Stiles' keys. Stiles grabbed and pocketed them. "It... could be worse?"

"Could I send her to the shop and have her back in a week?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I don't know much about cars, but I don't think there's a lot on the inside to fix," Scott replied.

"Does anyone know how the faerie dust got in my car?"

Derek finally spoke up, cutting off Scott's answer, "Oh, I don't know, Stiles. It might be because you never lock your doors, even though I've told you to _repeatedly_."

"Do you have to be a dick like, all the time? Is there some condition that you have that I should know about that _requires_ you to be a dick?" Stiles snarked. "And fyi, I actually _listened_  to you. Surprising, right? That I actually thought that locking my car would be a good idea after you lectured me for like, thirty minutes about how not locking my car was a good way to let murderers in my backseat? You don't even _need_ supernatural powers to pick a lock on a car door, dude."

Scott interjected before Stiles could rant some more, "How about not having this conversation right now? Neither of you guys are in too good of a mood, and–"

"Stay out of this, Scott!" Stiles and Derek shouted at the same time. Stiles yelled at Derek, "Don't tell him what to do!"

Derek started to growl in warning, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of god. I cant deal with your shit right now, Derek. It's not just that I _don't_  want to, I literally can't. So look, when we get to the hospital– oh, look, we're here."

The Camaro was pulled right up to the curb, and Scott got out and opened Stiles' door. Derek moved to open his door but Stiles stopped him. "I'm good here with Scott. Go back to the loft, buy groceries, I don't care. Just... go be anywhere but here."

Derek frowned even harder, eyebrows furrowed, and he looked ready to protest until Stiles met his eyes and said, "Please, Derek. I really don't want you here right now." Derek, for some reason, looked wounded for a second before he masked his face with a blank expression that reminded Stiles too much of the first few days that he knew him.

He was about to say something, anything, to get that damn expression off his face, when his dad's voice came from behind Scott. "Stiles? Is that Derek Hale?"

Scott winced and stepped to the side, giving his dad a clear look at Derek, and Stiles sitting in Derek's car. Stiles was just thankful that he didn't catch them when they were holding hands, because that would be even more incriminating than being seen in the same car. Stiles opened his mouth a few times, then closed it when he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He finally blurted out, "Uh, well. Yes. It is. But there's a perfectly good reason!"

"And that reason would be..?" His dad asked. He crossed his arms and waited for an answer, but Stiles had none to give. "And where's your car?"

Shit.

"Uh, well. About that..." Stiles started with a wince.

"We got in a car crash," Scott said abruptly. Stiles glared and made _abort! abort!_  motions at him.

" _What?_ " his dad exclaimed, whirling around to face Scott. "Where? Why didn't you call 911?" he asks.

"It wasn't that serious, dad," Stiles offered weakly. He hated lying to his dad. Every time he did, he knew that his dad trusted him a little bit less.

" _Wasn't that serious?_  Are you kidding me? It was a car crash, Stiles!"

"I was there when they crashed, sir. I offered to drive them to the hospital and it's my fault they didn't call," Derek piped up.

The Sheriff seemed to remember suddenly where they were, because he whirled back to Stiles. "And you're at a hospital. Which one of you is hurt?"

"It's my ankle. Don't freak out, I don't think it's that bad," Stiles said, trying to soothe his father before he got a glimpse at how bad it looked, all swollen and purple.

"Jeez, kid, you get in a car crash and don't even call me?" His dad looked hurt and Stiles could feel the metaphorical wedge in their relationship getting bigger.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't want you to worry," Stiles said, his guilt evident in his tone.

"Can you walk on it?" His dad asked. Stiles realized that he was still sitting in Derek's car, so he adjusted his leg so that his ankle was out of the car and not at risk of hitting anything, and started the painstaking task of actually getting out of the car.

"Uh, not really? But Scott can help me, right, Scott?" Stiles asked, looking over at Scott, who was fidgeting next to his dad.

"Yeah, dude, totally," Scott moved forward, thankful for something to do, and helped Stiles the rest of the way out of the car, wrapping his arm around Stiles' waist. Stiles tried not to feel disappointed that it wasn't Derek's body pressed firmly against his side, but he didn't do a very good job.

"Uh, so. Thanks for the help?" Stiles called back to Derek, not sure what he was supposed to say with his dad around. Derek nodded in acknowledgement and reached over to close the door. The Sheriff grabbed the door before he got to it and gave his own thanks, "Hale. I can't thank you enough for helping my son and his friend."

"Really, sir, it was no problem," Derek said, and Stiles had to fight back a laugh at how uncomfortable he looked.

"I still appreciate it. Next time I see you speeding down the street in this fancy car of yours, I might consider looking the other way. Have a good night, son." The Sheriff nodded at him and closed the door, and Derek drove off. Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Oh my god, what the hell was that?" Scott whispered to him. Stiles shrugged and whispered back, "I have no idea, but I think we're in the clear, excuse-wise."

"You wanna wait out here while I get a wheelchair, or are you okay?" The Sheriff asked Stiles.

"Nah, I'm good," Stiles replied. "Scott? You got me?"

"Yeah, dude, I'll support you, no matter what," Scott giggled at his own joke, the dork.

"Not funny, man," Stiles groaned. He couldn't give Scott _too_  much grief, because if their spots were reversed, he knew that he would probably make a similar joke. Similar and not the same because his would've been better.

"Alright then. Let's go, boys," the Sheriff said, gesturing towards the doors so that Stiles and Scott would walk in front of him. "It's gonna be a long night," he sighed. Stiles agreed wholeheartedly.

***

They got back from the hospital at about eleven that night, Stiles' ankle wrapped up in a maroon cast, and Scott made Stiles promise to let him be the first to sign. The Sheriff drove Scott home to pack a bag to spend the night, and when they walked in the house and Stiles tried to hobble to his room as fast as he could, his dad called him back.

"Stiles, get back here," he said, "and did you really think that you could get up those steps and slip into your room without me noticing?"

"I was kinda hoping that you just wouldn't say anything," Stiles replied with a slight wince as he turned around and headed to the kitchen table, where his dad was already sitting down.

"So, a car crash," the Sheriff stated.

"...Yes," Stiles answered uneasily. His dad had his interrogation face on, and Stiles had never done well under his scrutiny even without that damned face watching his every move.

"How'd it happen?" His dad asked, a seemingly innocent question. Stiles knew what he was doing, though. He was going to ask Stiles a bunch of questions, and he was going to pick out inconsistencies in what Stiles told him. Stiles remembered his dad describing the interrogation process to his class on career day in third grade, how whenever he spent hours memorizing how to interrogate someone effectively, he was always the one doing the interrogating and not the other way around, the position he often found himself in lately.

"Me and Scott were driving into town, and a rabbit ran in front of the Jeep, and you know how he is about animals and all, so he screamed for me to hit the brakes, but I was thinking that I should swerve around it, and, yeah. I hit a tree," Stiles rushed out, not missing a beat. He tried to sound as confident as possible in the lie, tried to convince himself that it was true, _had_  to believe that it was true before he'd have even the slightest chance of convincing his father.

"And you and Scott weren't under the influence of alcohol, or any other illegal substance?" The Sheriff asked, squinting at him.

"No, dad! I would never drink and drive, you know that," Stiles said, and it wasn't a lie that time. Stiles knew better than to drink and drive, because his dad told him enough horror stories about car crashes because of drunk drivers where the bodies are so mangled that they can't tell an arm from a leg to give him nightmares for years. Which, pretty gruesome bedtime stories to tell your kid, but it got the message through, at least.

The Sheriff visibly deflated, sinking back into his chair with a sigh. "I know, kid. I'm sorry. I just... I had to be sure."

"Yeah, no, I understand. It's cool, Dad, really. I'm sorry that the crash happened," Stiles said, trying to offer some comfort to his dad. Having him for a son definitely hadn't been easy on his dad, and it showed. Stiles was ashamed when he saw the dark spots under his dad's eyes and had been for years, because he knew that they were from him, no matter how much his dad denied it.

"I am too, son. I'm gonna go call a tow company to take your car to a shop, and you're gonna go get some rest until Scott gets here," the Sheriff instructed. Stiles nodded and grabbed his crutches from beside the table, standing up and fitting them under his arms.

Stiles hesitated for a second, then walked forward and wrapped his arms around his dad from behind. "'Night, Dad. Love you."

"I love you too, kid," his dad responded, relaxing under him and patting his arm. "Sleep tight."

He wasn't expecting to find Derek standing behind his door, and so the high pitched shriek he let out was completely justifiable. "What the hell, dude!" he whisper-screamed at him as his dad's concerned voice filtered up the stairs, asking if he was okay. Louder, he called out to his dad, "I'm good, I just tripped!"

"What are you doing in my bedroom? I don't think you realize how creepy that is!" Stiles exclaimed, walking around him to go sit on his bed.

"It's broken?" Derek asked. His face was blank, a carefully practiced expression that made Stiles roll his eyes.

"No, I just have to sleep it off," Stiles replied sarcastically. "Yes, it's broken!"

"Oh," Derek looked down at the floor, his eyebrows drawn together.

Silence dragged out between them, long enough to make Stiles uncomfortable, so he cleared his throat and Derek looked up expectantly. "Uh, so. Is that it? Because Scott's coming over soon, and–"

"Oh. Yeah," Derek said, already by the windowsill, faster than Stiles could track him with his eyes. "I'll just–"

"Is there something else you came for?" Stiles asked, hesitant. Derek seemed... off. More off than usual. "You're acting weird, even for you."

"No. Goodnight, Stiles." And with that, he jumped out of the window in a single motion, onto Stiles' front lawn and ran down the street. Stiles shrugged to himself, confused at Derek's behavior, and walked over to close his window.

***

Later, Stiles and Scott were laying in the pile of blankets they put on the floor in the living room, watching terrible horror movies and eating junk food. They used to do this every weekend, up until sophomore year, when Scott got turned and they both got dragged into the supernatural world of crazy shit. Some of Stiles' best memories are from those weekends, sitting right here, wrapped up in his Mom's old quilt, throwing popcorn up in the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. He hated getting nostalgic, but sometimes he couldn't help it when he was reminded of how great it was to just be _normal_. To not have to be in constant fear for your life, to be able to go outside and not get kidnapped or almost used as a sacrifice.

"So," Scott started, dragging Stiles away from his thoughts, "what was Derek doing here?"

For some reason, that question made Stiles uncomfortable. He knew that Scott could tell when he was lying, but he was hoping that he'd get the message that Stiles just didn't feel like talking about Derek. Most likely, he wouldn't. "He wasn't here."

"Okay, first off, I picked up his scent as soon as I walked in," Stiles opened his mouth to interject that he was around him a lot today, anyways, and his scent could have just rubbed off on him then, but Scott added, "And not from earlier today, either. It was fresher.

"Second, I can tell when you're lying. And you know that I can tell when you're lying." Scott finished, staring at Stiles with an intensity that could rival one of Derek's glares.

Scott stared him down, and Stiles finally broke under his gaze, groaning. "Okay, fine. He..." Stiles paused. Why was Derek there, anyways? He never really said much of anything, except to check—

Oh.

"He was totally checking on me!" Stiles exclaimed, quickly clamping a hand down over his own mouth. He raised an eyebrow and pointed to the ceiling, silently asking Scott if he woke his dad up. Scott shook his head, and Stiles removed his hand from his face. He quietly added, "Wait, he was worried about me? Why?"

"He's been worrying all night. Ever since we found your car on the side of the road with no trace of you in it, he's been freaking out. So was everyone else, though, so I didn't think much of it. Still don't," Scott said, shrugging.

"But why does he care at all?" Stiles asked. "He literally hates me." Derek couldn't possibly care if he was hurt. He made it abundantly clear ever since they met that Stiles was nothing more than a burden, a liability that Derek wished he didn't have to deal with.

"You're pack, Stiles. No matter what he says, you're still important to him." Scott honestly replied. "I guess it feels different to humans, but... when you're a werewolf, you can feel this... bond, between packmates. I really don't know how to explain it, but it's like... you want your pack to be happy and healthy, and when they're not, you can feel it. Like we're all tied together, somehow."

"Oh. So it's just an instinctual thing," Stiles said, feeling more disappointed than  
he necessarily should that Derek wouldn't care that he was hurt if he wasn't pack. It probably only mattered to him because if Stiles died, it would weaken the pack somehow. "If I'm hurt, he's hurt."

"Well, yeah, sort of, but it's more than that," Scott responded, shaking his head. "Like, Jackson was pack before, but if he would've broken _his_  leg, I wouldn't have cared. Sure, I would know he was hurt because of the pack bond, but it wouldn't make a difference to me other than that. I wouldn't suddenly become, like, concerned for his recovery or anything."

"Oh. So just to be clear, Derek concern for my well being had nothing to do with the pack bond?" Stiles asked.

Scott shook his head slowly, thinking. "Not really." Then he squinted at Stiles. "What's up with this sudden obsession with Derek, anyways? You don't like him, do you?"

Stiles could tell that Scott was joking, but the thing was... he _maybe_  had an itsy bitsy hugely massive crush on Derek. It was hard not to develop one when you're carried around by the guy for an hour. Scott seemed to realize it too, because his eyes widened when Stiles took too long to say something, then responded with a pathetic, "uh, well."

"Oh my god! Dude! You have a crush on _Derek_?! No, wait, I can be supportive, I'm sorry," Scott paused, face turning red and contorting with the effort to keep his criticism in. And because he was a _great_  friend, he didn't quite manage even that. "...But  _Derek_?!"

"Yes, Scott! I have a crush on Derek! Mind talking a little louder so my dad can hear you and come down here to gossip with us? I'm pretty sure he would _love_  the fact that I have a ginormous crush on a 24 year old that was accused of _murder_."

"Twice," Scott oh-so helpfully added. Stiles rolled his eyes and whacked him on the back of the head. "So... are you–"

"Scott. I'm gonna save us both from what would be a very awkward conversation. I appreciate your obvious support, but we _really_  don't need to talk about it," Stiles told him. He could tell that Scott was trying, but talking about his crush on Derek like they were two fifth grade girls at a slumber party did not appeal to him. And he knew for a fact that it didn't appeal to Scott, unless he was the one doing the talking about _his_  crush.

"Thanks, dude," Scott said, clearly relieved. Stiles nodded in acknowledgement and they became silent again, turning back to watch the movie with _very_  unrealistic werewolves. His eyes started to droop about thirty minutes later, and he drifted off to sleep.

***

"It's been a week since anyone was kidnapped. Did they give up, or heed to your warning, or whatever the hell you want to call it?" Stiles asked at the next pack meeting, sitting on one of Derek's couches at the end, next to Erica in the middle with Boyd to her left. Scott and Isaac were on the love seat, and Allison and Lydia were on the other couch. Derek stood in front of the group with his arms crossed and a frown planted firmly in place.

"No, they aren't gone. Just laying low, waiting until we let our guard down," Derek replied.

"They'll be waiting for a while in that case, with your nonstop hyper-vigilance," Erica muttered under her breath, examining her ruby red nails. Derek growled and flashed his eyes at her, and she looked down at her lap, submitting to her alpha. Stiles rolled his eyes, and Boyd put an arm around her.

"Well, lucky for us, I have a plan," Lydia called, standing up and placing an old green book on the coffee table in front of them that Stiles hadn't noticed before. "It's going to require someone who knows how to use magic, but I think Deaton can help us out with that part."

"So what's the plan?" Scott asked. Lydia gave him a devilish grin and opened up the book.

After giving them a rundown of her plan, most of which Stiles tuned out, they all gathered into two vehicles, one being Stiles' Jeep (though Scott had to drive because of Stiles' ankle) and the other Derek's Camaro, they drove to the pet clinic. Erica had quipped, "aw, don't make Mom and Dad split up! Dad gets cranky and Mom mopes." Derek growled and she stopped making jokes.

"So, you need someone magical to assist you for this plan to work?" Deaton asked after Lydia explained what she needed. She nodded and he got that creepy look on his face that he would get whenever he was trying to decide whether or not to withhold information. "Well, you already know someone with magical abilities. What else is on your list?"

Everyone paused, different variations of confused expressions on their faces. Deaton looked around the group with one eyebrow raised.

"The one with magical abilities... meaning you, right?" Isaac finally asked, breaking the silence and ending their stare-off with Deaton.

"No, of course not. I have no magical ability naturally. Anything I know was taught to me," Deaton responded.

"Well then who else do we know?" Stiles confusedly asked. "There's no one else left, you're it."

Deaton looked him in the eye. "Actually, Mr. Stilinski, I'm not the only one left. Do you recall a few years ago when I told you that you had what is known as the Spark?"

Everyone turned to look at him, and Stiles slowly nodded. He didn't think much of it at the time, but he had a feeling that whatever the Spark was, it was important.

"The Spark is what gives you natural magical abilities. Yes, magic can be taught, but those with the Spark truly excel. They master skills that one could only wish to have." Deaton said. Stiles stared at him, mouth agape. He wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but it sounded like Deaton was trying to tell him that he was a _freaking wizard_ , or something like that. Like Stiles was anything other than an average human being.

For the first time in a long time, Stiles found himself speechless.

"Wait, so Stiles is a _wizard_?" Isaac exclaimed, looking at him in disbelief. Stiles wanted to be offended, but he couldn't believe it himself.

"The proper term is Mage, but yes, the concept is the same," Deaton affirmed. Stiles gaped at him, and Lydia put a hand on his jaw, closing his mouth.

"So... Me? I have... Oh my god," Stiles breathed. "You're kidding, right? This is a joke."

"No, Stiles. It's not a joke," Deaton promised him. His eyes were wide and serious, and Stiles groaned because he wanted it to be a joke. His life would be so much simpler if it was a joke. "And if you want to take down the faerie queen, I need to teach you how to use your Spark sooner rather than later. Are you free on Saturdays?"

"Wait, hold on. Give me a second to process before you start talking about training me on how to use _magic_ , because this is a lot to lay on a guy. Just," Stiles said, holding up a finger. He couldn't have the Spark, or whatever it was. He was just... Stiles. Plain old, human Stiles, who got kidnapped, maimed, injured, and, a few times, almost killed. He was the weak one. He didn't want to be, but that was just how things were. When you were a human in a pack of werewolves, that was how things worked. So, yeah, Stiles was in denial. It was hard to believe that he could possibly be less useless than he thought.

"Stiles? You okay, dude?" Scott questioned. He was looking at Stiles with concern, and Stiles cleared his throat and nodded. Lydia rolled her eyes and gently patted his shoulders, and Stiles wasn't embarrassed to admit that he leaned into the touch.

"Saturdays are good for me," Stiles looked at Deaton and affirmed with a nod.

Deaton gave him a small smile. "I'll see you on Saturday, then, Mr. Stilinski."

As they all walked out of the building, Scott ran back to Stiles and clapped him on the back, knocking him over. Scott apologized and grabbed his shoulder before he could fall, and Stiles barely noticed, too busy freaking out about his Spark. After everyone else left, Deaton called him back and told him to try to focus on feeling his Spark until they met on Saturday. Maybe it was psychosomatic it or maybe it was just his ADHD, but he felt a buzzing under his skin, like an energy making itself known now that it had been acknowledged.

"Dude! Welcome to the supernatural club! How does it feel?" Scott asked, giving him a wide, dimply smile.

Stiles snorted and hobbled over to the passenger side of his car. "I don't know, man. No different than when I thought I was an average guy. Kind of disappointing, actually. I always though that it would feel like finding out you had superpowers."

"Aw, it'll get better. It's way cooler once you actually know what you're doing. At least, it was for me," Scott lamented. Stiles opened the passenger door and carefully got in, sticking his crutches as far down on the floorboard as possible, then leaned the top half against the window, hitting himself in the face a couple of times in the process.

"Did you seriously just use the 'it'll get better' speech on me?" Stiles scoffed.

Lydia cleared her throat. "I hate to say it, but he's right, Stiles. Take it from a banshee if you don't trust the werewolf."

"Ugh, but it's not even like it's out of my control, or too powerful for me to handle. The problem is that I suck at being supernatural. I'm so bad that I didn't even _know_ I was supernatural," Stiles groaned, leaning back against the headrest.

"Maybe it's like one of those things, like, your powers don't work until they're activated?" Scott offered.

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed, though he wasn't so sure.

***

Deaton set a lightbulb in front of him and backed up. Stiles looked at him, and when he didn't elaborate, said, "Uh."

"Before we get into how to use your Spark, you first have to ignite it," Deaton explained. "I don't know how much power you'll have when you open your mind and allow yourself to release energy, so I decided against using a candle and settled with a lightbulb. Only 60 watts."

"What, am I gonna burn the place down?" Stiles snorted.

"If I'd chosen a candle, it could've been a possibility," Deaton replied, and Stiles blanched.

"What?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure that you'll be fine," Deaton assured him. "Now, try lighting the lightbulb. Focus all of your energy on getting it to light."

"What, so just think at it?" Stiles asked, staring at the lightbulb quite intimidatingly, if he said so himself.

"Precisely. Think about what you want it to do, tell it what you want it to do, and imagine it complying," Deaton instructed. Stiles leaned forward and rested his head on the table, eye-level with the lightbulb.

"Alright, lightbulb," Stiles muttered at it, "here's how this is gonna work. You're gonna light, and you're gonna stay lit. Alright? So... light!"

The lightbulb did not light.

Discouraged, Stiles frowned and looked to Deaton, "It didn't work."

"Keep trying. I need to handle some business in my office, I'll be back in an hour," Deaton said, turning away and leaving before Stiles could respond, leaving him with his mouth wide open.

"What great help you are," Stiles muttered to himself as he turned back to the lightbulb.

After focusing all his attention on the lightbulb for 45 whole minutes (with a few breaks in between, because he could only focus on a lightbulb for so long), he was about ready to give up. In a last ditch effort to get it to light, he frustratedly yelled, "Just light up!"

The lightbulb exploded in a burst of sparks, and Stiles shrieked and flew backwards. "Ah! Deaton!"

Deaton walked in and looked from the shards of glass and metal to Stiles. "I see you've gotten the bulb to light. Congratulations."

"It exploded," Stiles remarked, pointing at the glass.

"Were you projecting a negative energy?" Deaton asked.

"Uh. I was irritated?" Stiles offered.

Deaton nodded. "Using negative energy when performing magic can be destructive."

"Uh, yeah! I can see that!" Stiles exclaimed, flailing his arms wildly.

"Well, you're free to go. I will see you next Saturday," Deaton said, turning around and moving to walk back into his office.

"Wait, that's it?" Stiles asked. So much for learning how to use his Spark. All he did was stare at a lightbulb until it exploded. Which, actually, making glass explode with his mind was pretty hardcore when he thought about it like that.

"That's it," Deaton agreed, heading into his office.

Stiles shrugged to himself and left the building, thinking about exploding lightbulbs the whole walk to his car.

***

The Fae Folk tried to kidnap someone again less than a week later. Lydia called Stiles in a panic, telling him to meet her at the bowling alley at two in the morning, and Stiles blindly reached for a pair of pants and shoved them on. After he got off the phone with Lydia, he called Scott, who answered on the first ring.

"Where are we meeting?" Scott asked in lieu of a greeting. If the situation wasn't serious, Stiles would've called him out on his rudeness, but someone was about to be kidnapped, so definitely not the time. Scott most likely heard Lydia's scream, what with his preternatural hearing and all that.

"Bowling alley," Stiles replied, hanging up and slipping his phone into his pocket. He shoved a shoe onto his driving foot and grabbed his crutches, making his way down the stairs and grabbing his keys. He didn't need to worry about sneaking out because his dad was working the night shift, but he still had to maneuver around his bulky cast. In just two more weeks, he'd be able to get it off, and he couldn't be any more anxious to get rid of the thing.

Luckily, until he got the cast off, he could still drive, he thought as he started his car. The cast got in the way, yeah, but at least it wasn't on his right foot. There would be problems if that were the case, given that driving was a necessary skill when you had to be somewhere in the middle of the night three or four times a week.

Lydia was anxiously standing outside on the sidewalk, alone, with her arms wrapped around her middle when Stiles pulled up. She walked forward as soon as the car stopped, and Stiles opened the door and pulled her into a hug. She breathed out harshly and squeezed back, and he offered her soothing words, rubbing small circles into her back. She pulled away and scrubbed at her face, wiping any signs of vulnerability away.

"Who all did you call?" Stiles asked softly. He felt like he should be quiet right now.

"Just you. I thought you would tell everyone else, or they might've heard me. I wasn't exactly quiet," Lydia remarked, self-depreciatingly.

"I called Scott, and he'll probably call everyone else, don't worry about it. We can just... wait, I guess, until the rest of the pack gets here. Wanna get in the Jeep?" Stiles suggested. Lydia walked over to the passenger side, so Stiles moved his crutches to the back. After she got in and shut the door, Stiles said, "This better not cause a disturbance, because I'm dead if my dad gets called down here."

"I think you'll be fine, Stiles. It's not like they'd try to put themselves in any more danger," Lydia drily said. "I'm actually surprised that they waited this long to kidnap someone else. They're obviously worried about getting caught."

Oh, _obviously_ , because they waited a _whole week_ before trying to kidnap someone," Stiles snorted, typing out a text to Scott to make sure that he called the rest of the pack. He didn't want just Scott showing up, because no offense to him, but that would be less than helpful. Scott was kind of a mess.

"I just can't wait until we get rid of them," Lydia sighed. "Speaking of, how did Saturday go with Deaton?"

"Good. I blew up a lightbulb," Stiles replied. Lydia raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it," Stiles agreed.

"You were there for how long, and all you did was get a lightbulb to explode?" Lydia said, giving him a condescending look. Stiles could feel his cheeks heat up, embarrassed now that he thought about how little progress he'd made. It was Deaton's fault, at least.

"Hey, it took a lot of work to get that thing to even do that! It was only supposed to light, anyway, so technically I did better than I was supposed to," Stiles defended himself.

Lydia sighed, deflating. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm just really stressed right now."

Stiles opened his mouth to assure her that it was alright, but Scott came running towards the car at that moment. They both turned to watch, opening their car doors and stepping out, Stiles grabbing his crutches first.

"What happened?" Scott asked, a worried crease in his brow, not even out of breath from the run. Stiles envied him and his ability to run without losing his breath. That was probably the worst part about having a werewolf best friend, they always showed you up in any physical activities.

"Nothing, yet," Lydia replied, "but something is going to happen. I can feel it." She looked anxiously towards the bowling alley.

"Well, as soon as everyone else gets here, we'll go check things out," Scott assured her.

They waited for a few minutes, discussing how they would split everyone up once they arrived. By the time everyone did, they had agreed that Scott would lead one group around the outside of the building, and Derek would take the other group inside. Scott tried to get Stiles to just wait in his car, but Stiles flat-out refused, not when his pack was risking their safety. Scott finally reluctantly gave up, as long as Stiles agreed to go with Derek's group, which he labeled as "safer".

Derek's group consisted of Lydia, Allison, and Stiles, which honestly wasn't even a little but surprising. It was like Team Human (well, Team Not Werewolf, now) was reunited, given the safe, non-life-threatening jobs. Stiles was okay taking the safe route, especially since the full extent of his powers was getting a lightbulb to explode. And even that took 45 minutes.

"So, what are we looking for?" asked Stiles, looking at Lydia. "Someone breaking into the closed bowling alley, exactly like we just did?"

"I don't know. It just feels..." Lydia stopped, searching for the right word. "Wrong. It feels like something bad is going to happen."

Okay, then," Stiles sighed. They kept walking, Stiles falling behind a little, exhausted from having only one fully working leg. Derek noticed and slowed down a little, until they were walking side-by-side.

"How's your ankle?" he asked, purposefully trying to sound casual and coming off a little awkward.

"Uh, fine. The cast comes off in two weeks, so..." Stiles ended with an awkward shrug, not sure what to say. Derek was staring at the ground with furrowed brows and a grimace, and Stiles knew that look. "You don't seriously think this was your fault, do you? Because it wasn't."

Derek let out a pained laugh, not a happy sound. "Yes, it was. If I didn't tell you to leave, you wouldn't have crashed. Or gotten kidnapped."

"Dude, no matter what, I would've gotten hit with that roofie faerie goo shit that was all over my radio. I still would've gotten kidnapped, you just made it happen before the middle of the freaking night, which would've meant that I wouldn't have been found until the morning when someone noticed that I had been missing for hours. Don't blame yourself for something unavoidable," Stiles said. He came to a stop and Derek did the same. Stiles turned to him, making him meet his eyes. "Got it?"

Derek sighed and looked away, opened his mouth to reply, but Stiles' phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting him off. He pulled it out to see a text from Scott.

_spotted 2 faeries. me isaac erica n boyd are on it_

"Scott said he saw two faeries. They're following them now," Stiles told the rest of the group.

" _What?_  Is he gonna be okay? I've got my arrows in the car, I can go help," Allison offered worriedly. It was sickeningly cute how much her and Scott loved each other. Stiles wouldn't be surprised if one of them proposed the day after graduation. His money was on Allison, because Scott would probably chicken out of it at the last minute. But that's not important, priorities! He could gag over their diabetes-inducing relationship later.

"No. We need to stay here, watch for potential victims," Derek asserted.

"I hate to say it, but he's right. Scott's a big boy, Allison, he'll be okay. Isaac too," Stiles added, making her blush. She bit her lip and looked down, nodding while she twirled a finger around her hair.

"No, you're right, they'll all be fine. There's no need to worry. Is there?" she asked uncertainly, looking to Lydia.

"They'll be okay. It's not– I don't... feel anything. They're okay," Lydia assured her.

"We need to go check behind the building, someone's out there," Derek ordered. After a moment, he added, "Two people."

He began walking towards the exit door to the left of them, and they followed. Stiles could hear heavy breathing before they even opened the doors, and he rushed forward, only to be stopped by Derek's massive arm over his chest. "Don't," he said, his nose scrunched up. "You really don't want to do that."

Stiles opened his mouth to ask why, but then a loud moan sounded from outside, and he gagged. "Oh, man, that's _disgusting_!"

"Should we, uh... scare them off?" Allison asked, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes.

"Well, I'm not about to. Be my guest, but I don't want to see other people shaboinking. As long as the others deal with the faeries, I think we don't necessarily need to," Stiles said. He looked to Lydia, "How are we on that front, Lyds? Will the passionate lovers outside live to see another day?"

"I think so. I'm not sure yet," Lydia replied. Stiles wasn't surprised, because with Lydia's abilities, nothing was certain. They were kind of all over the place, and Stiles was just happy that she could sense death _before_  the death happened, now.

His phone chimed again, and when he pulled it out of his pocket, it was lit up with another text from Scott.

_scared off the faeries. didnt ctch 1. meet us outside_

Stiles relayed the information to Allison, Lydia, and Derek, and they made their way to the front. Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd looked fine when they got outside, but Allison jumped on Scott nonetheless.

"Well, if we're done here, I'm going home. See you at school," Boyd said, walking away with Erica. She waved over her shoulder, resting her head on Boyd's shoulder. Ugh, another sickeningly cute display of affection from another sickeningly cute couple. Stiles thought he could throw up right there.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. My dad's gonna be home soon, and I need to be at least pretend to be asleep," Stiles agreed.

"We'll talk about it at the next pack meeting, then?" Scott suggested. They agreed, and Stiles walked (well, if you considered his weird hobbling thing he had going on walking) to his car.

On the ride home, he made sure not to touch his radio, even though every song on sucked. By the time that he got home, he was almost convinced that there was some type of Fae magic in his radio ensuring that every song that came on was one Stiles hated.

His dad's patrol car wasn't there, so he didn't bother trying to be quiet as he trudged up the stairs, shedding clothes and tossing his crutches down. He crawled into bed and fell asleep in no time flat, utterly exhausted. He would've fallen asleep even quicker if he didn't feel like someone was standing outside his window, watching him.

***

The next two weeks passed by in a blur. Stiles finally got his cast taken off, ankle as good as new, he went to pack meetings, they stopped a few people from getting kidnapped. By far the most exciting thing would be his lessons with Deaton. That next Saturday, instead of handing him a lightbulb, he handed Stiles a book. It was old and worn, similar to the one that Lydia had, the one that included the spell to help them defeat the queen. Deaton told him that it was a sort of beginner's spellbook, and Stiles found it surprisingly easy to focus his energy and perform the different tricks. Now that he acknowledged it, his Spark was a constant, comforting buzz underneath his skin.

He was already halfway through the book, working on it in his room every night that he wasn't with the pack. He had a few close calls with his dad, where he would walk in during the middle of a spell, and Stiles was afraid that he was going to get caught. Was almost sure that he'd been caught, a few times. In one instance, Stiles was sitting on his bed, making it float (he was a quick learner), and his dad walked in and asked what he wanted for dinner. Stiles quickly let his bed drop, but his dad side-eyed him for the rest of the night, and Stiles could tell that he suspected something, even if his rational mind passed it off.

He was sitting on his bed with the lights off, making his hands omit a glowing blue orb, brightening and dimming it when Scott called. He answered, said, "Yo, what's–"

"Stiles," Scott breathed through the phone in a panic, making Stiles sit up and reach for his keys immediately. "It's Derek. You gotta come to the Preserve, man. He's– it's not looking good. There's so much blood..."

"I'm on my way, just hang tight," Stiles told him, hanging up and running down the stairs. His hands shook the whole ride over and he found it hard to breathe a few times, but he just kept speeding in the direction of the Preserve. When he got there, he realized that he didn't know exactly where Derek was, but a howl, loud and desperate, stopped him from pulling out his phone to call Scott. He followed the noise, running as fast as possible, and collapsed to his knees in a puddle of Derek's blood when he got there.

"Stiles," Scott started from Derek's other side. Stiles didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't continue.

Scott wasn't exaggerating when he said that Derek looked bad. He was propped up against a tree, blood covering his arms where they were wrapped around his stomach, and Stiles couldn't see his abdomen, but he could tell that it wasn't looking too hot either. He tried to say Stiles' name, getting out the first half, until he choked on his own blood and coughed, red flecks of it landing on Stiles' face.

What happened," Stiles finally demanded in a broken voice, not looking away from Derek, putting his hands on Derek's face. His beautiful, dying face. For all the times that Stiles said that he wished Derek would die, now that it was actually happening Stiles felt like his world was ending for a second time, the first being his mom's death. He didn't want to lose anyone else.

"Derek was fighting the Queen, and she– hit him in the stomach with a fireball, or something. He's not healing, man, I thought you'd want to– to say goodbye," Scott stammered, voice wavering.

Stiles bit back a sob. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he barely paid attention to them. Derek was dying right in front of him. "No," Stiles ground out. "He's not dying."

"Stiles, I'm so, so sorry, but he's–"

"He's going to be fine!" Stiles shouted, letting out the sobs he'd tried to hold back before. Just a second of weakness before he brought himself back together, for Derek's sake. His hands shook as he peeled Derek's arms away from his stomach, but his voice was firm when he told Derek to move them, and he must not have had the strength to argue, because he complied.

A broken noise came out of Derek's mouth, and Stiles looked up to see him trying to talk.

"St–"

"Hey, no no no, don't do that, you'll make it worse, you'll be okay," Stiles soothed, rubbing his cheek gently to clear away blood. Derek grabbed his hand with a weak grip, and Stiles looked down at him, biting his lip to keep in another sob. He didn't know if he could fix this. There was too much blood, too much, and Derek was already gaunt under the grime, and Stiles just didn't know what to do. He didn't want to lose Derek, he cared about him, trusted him. He wanted more than what he had with him, wanted more than just friendship. "I'm gonna kiss you now, Derek, is that okay?"

Derek gave him a jerky nod and Stiles surged forward, connecting their lips together, a metallic taste spreading from Derek's mouth to Stiles'. Derek didn't really kiss back, too weak to do much, but Stiles put all he had into the kiss. For every kiss they'd never have, he kissed twice as much. It didn't make him accept Derek's death, did nothing but bring down his walls, making it hard to breathe. He pulled away, and looked at Derek's bloody stomach, just so he wouldn't have to look at his face.

It was bad. The wound was deep, fatally so, and Stiles had to try with all his might not to make another broken sound just looking at it.

"Is there anything I can do?" Scott asked. Stiles looked up at him, having forgotten that he was there.

"Cut away his shirt," Stiles directed, reaching forward and gently grabbing the hem, wincing when Derek jerked in pain. Scott cut away the shirt without a word, and Stiles pulled the shirt away from the wound as he worked.

"I'm going to try something that I've never tried on you, Derek. It's going to work, though, don't worry, I know it'll work," Stiles said, his words wobbly. He could feel Scott watching him, could feel his pity, but Stiles was confident.

He looked at the deep wound, imagined it healing, muscle forming over organs, skin knitting back together over muscle. He closed his eyes and let his hands hover over Derek, could see the blue light his fingers were omitting through his eyelids. Derek sucked in a deep breath, and Stiles opened his eyes. Derek's stomach looked perfectly fine, as if nothing had ever happened to it. The only evidence that something had happened was all the blood on the ground and their clothes. There wasn't even any dried blood on his skin.

"Holy shit, Stiles... How'd you do that?" Scott asked, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Stiles shrugged, shaking his head.

"Is he still alive?" Stiles asked, jerking an arm towards Derek, whose eyes were closed and face was slack.

"Yeah, he's fine. I don't... How? He was... You know what, we don't have to talk about this right now," Scott said, standing up. "I'll carry him, let's take him to the loft."

Stiles shuddered out a deep breath, trying to gain some composure. He told himself that Derek was okay, or alive at least, but he couldn't seem to get his panic under control.

Stiles drove them to the loft, Derek lain across the backseat. When they got there and set Derek on the bed, Scott put a comforting hand on Stiles' shoulder for a few seconds, promised to text him later, then left, thankfully knowing somehow that Stiles wasn't leaving any time soon.

Stiles walked over to Derek's dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a grey Henley. He shed his blood soaked clothes and changed, tossing the ruined garments to the side. He went into the bathroom and washed the dried blood off of his arms and face, and walked back back out into the main room. Grabbing a chair and setting it next to Derek's bed, he sat down and leaned forward, watching him sleep. Which sounded weird, but given that he'd just technically almost died, Stiles was allowed to be a little weird about it.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up with his head pillowed on his arms, leaning on Derek's mattress with sunlight burning the back of his head, so it must've happened. Derek was still asleep, and Stiles had to piss, so he got up and stretched his sore back, then went to the bathroom. His pile of bloody clothes were buzzing when he came back, and it took a minute for him to realize, through his sleep-muddled mind, that it was his cell phone and not a bug.

He groaned, realizing that his dad was probably freaking out because Stiles wasn't in bed or answering his phone. He probably thought that Stiles was dead in a ditch somewhere. He searched for his phone, maneuvering through stiff denim pockets. The screen was lit up with a text from Scott, and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief, thinking for a second that his dad might not have noticed yet. That is, until he scrolled past that to see 31 missed calls from his dad and 11 unread text messages. He opened the one from Scott first.

_i got u covered bro. told ur dad that u were at my house nd ur phone died when he called here. he asked 2 talk nd i said u were asleep. stick with that story nd ull b good_

Scott was a lifesaver. Seriously, Stiles was never going to be able to thank him enough. He looked over to Derek, reluctant to leave him alone while basically comatose, but he really had no other choice. His dad was most likely livid that Stiles didn't tell him where he was going. Stiles wasn't looking forward to facing him, but he needed to deal with it sooner rather than later.

With that in mind, Stiles grabbed his keys and left the loft. The drive back to his house was torture. Stiles glanced down at his phone every five seconds to make sure his dad didn't try to call again, and he almost crashed the Jeep (again) twice.

When he pulled up to the house, the cruiser was there, and Stiles lost all hope of sneaking up to his room to avoid his dad.

It was too early for this, he thought as he unlocked the door, stepping inside and spotting his dad at the kitchen table. "Stiles," he curtly greeted.

"Dad," Stiles replied with a wave.

"Wanna tell me why you and Scott decided to plan a surprise sleepover in the middle of the night? Or why you thought that it would be okay not to tell me about it?" his dad questioned, narrowing his eyes. Stiles gulped, not sure how to respond, then his dad squinted even harder, leaning back. "Stiles," he started, "where are your clothes? I know you don't own either of those," he gestured at the sweatpants and shirt, "and neither does Scott, as far as I know."

"Uh," Stiles said intelligently. His dad heaved a sigh.

"Stiles, come sit down."

Stiles sat down across from his father, picking at the hem of Derek's shirt. He tried not to think of how it smelled like him, like comfort, told himself that it wasn't the time. "I want the truth, Stiles, and you're not leaving until I get it. Where were you last night?"

Stiles panicked, doing what he did best when he didn't know what to say; he word-vomited. "What's that saying, the one you use in court? I plead the fifth? Yeah, that's it. I plead the fifth, Dad. I'm not speaking until I get an attorney. You'd know all about that amendment since you're in law enforcement, so you know that you can't ask me any more questions."

"Stiles," his dad warned.

Stiles sighed, defeated. He bit his lip and didn't say anything, thinking that maybe if he didn't talk for long enough, his dad would just let it go. If only it worked that way.

"Is it something I said? To make you think that I wouldn't love you no matter what? Because I do, son," his dad said, confusing the hell out of Stiles. What was he talking about?

"What?"

"It's okay if you have a boyfriend, Stiles. I don't mind that you're not straight," his dad assured, and now Stiles was _really_  confused.

"Hold on, wait. What? Boyfriend? What boyfriend?"

"Oh, come on, Stiles. You're even wearing his clothes. You've never been subtle about it," his dad said. "So, who is it? That Isaac kid? Danny?"

"No! Neither of them!" Stiles exclaimed. "Although, Danny– Wait, no! Dad, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, you do," his dad insisted.

"No, I don't. I appreciate your acceptance, but there's no boyfriend," Stiles said, cheeks aflame. He couldn't believe this was his life.

"Wait, so are you straight?" his dad confusedly asked.

"Oh. Um. Well, no, not exactly. I swing both ways, I'm an equal opportunity guy, I bat with both hands, however you want to phrase it," Stiles awkwardly replied. Well, at least that took care of coming out. That was good. One less thing to stress over.

"Well, where'd the clothes come from then?" his dad asked, and. Oh. That wasn't good. How was he supposed to explain away the clothes if he got rid of the boyfriend notion?

"They're, uh, Derek's?" Stiles replied, saying it like a question.

His dad crossed his arms over his chest. "Derek Hale? The former _murder suspect_? Why the hell were you at his house last night?"

And that's where Stiles was hopelessly lost. He couldn't just tell his dad that Derek was almost killed by a magical faerie queen made out of fire. He couldn't tell his dad that he had to use his _own_  magical powers to heal him. That wouldn't go over well. "Uh, well..."

"Stiles. Did you lie about the boyfriend thing because you're dating Derek?" his dad accused.

"No, Dad! I'm perpetually single! There's no boyfriend!" Stiles argued, emphasizing his words with wild hand movements.

"I'm finding that really hard to believe right now, Stiles," his dad said. Stiles rubbed a hand over his eyes, moaning. This conversation was not going well, and Stiles made a decision that he probably shouldn't have.

"You know what, dad? You want the truth? I can give you the truth," Stiles offered angrily.

His dad nodded, and Stiles told him everything. First, werewolves, then he told him the causes of all of the crimes that couldn't be solved. Stiles told him about the night he was kidnapped, about the other kidnappings they had stopped, about last night. Through his recount, there was a look of disbelief on his dad's face that Stiles hoped was just his shocked face.

He finished, and his dad sat there silently, before finally saying, "Well, you've got a big imagination, I'll give you that."

"Why won't you just believe me!" Stiles shouted, feeling tears building up in his eyes. He was upset, stressed out, and he was mad. Upset that when he finally told the truth, his dad thought he was lying, stressed out because he just had to watch Derek almost die, and mad at himself for crying. "I'm telling you the truth for the first time in years, and you're not listening! Dad, I'm serious about this! You know I'm telling the truth, think about it. All the cases you couldn't solve, all the unexplainable things that have happened in the past few years! Well, here's your explanation, take it or leave it."

"Stiles..." His dad sighed.

"No," Stiles said suddenly, shooting up out of his seat. "I can prove it. Wait here."

He ran to the bathroom and grabbed a lightbulb, setting it down on the table when he returned. His dad looked at him worriedly. "Just trust me," Stiles said, wincing at his word choice. "Well, try to."

He stared at the lightbulb, focused on it, imagined it lighting up. His dad was still looking at him as if he'd lost his mind, and that just made Stiles more anxious for the bulb to light. "Please light. Just light up, you don't have to explode or anything, I just need you to light," Stiles muttered to the bulb, not even caring that he looked insane. He was desperate to get _something_  to happen. It was alarming that it was taking him so long to get it to light in the first place. He finally gave up, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well, this is just great!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Stiles, why don't you go lay down? We can talk later. I can call Melissa, see if she can stop by and take a look at you–"

"No!" Stiles cried out, wiping away the tears on his cheeks. He desperately asked, "Do you remember the other night when you came into my room to ask me what I wanted for dinner, and I was sitting on my bed? What did you think you saw?"

"How did–" his dad started.

"Dad," Stiles pleaded, " _please_ , just answer me."

"I thought– it's crazy, but I thought I saw the bed floating. But it wasn't–" his dad stopped, his eyebrows coming together.

"It was. I was making the bed float. You weren't imagining it, and you're not crazy. Neither am I, because this stuff is real," said Stiles. He could see his dad turning the information over in his head, saw when his dad finally accepted the truth.

"Come here, kid," he said, getting up out of his chair and rushing over to hug him. Stiles shot up out of his chair and met him halfway, shuddering into the embrace, letting the exhausted tears fall. He would be embarrassed about all the crying he'd done later, but now all he could focus on was his father's embrace. It wasn't the same trust they'd had before, but it felt like a step towards it.

***

Derek didn't confront him about the kiss and Stiles didn't bring it up. Maybe Derek didn't remember? He _had_ lost a lot of blood, after all, and he'd passed out a few seconds later. Maybe he was asleep before Stiles had even kissed him, for all he knew.

The point was, Derek didn't say anything, and neither did Stiles. They acted like nothing happened, which maybe nothing _did_ happen, at least not on Derek's end. They texted back and forth a few times, petty fights that neither of them were actually angry about, just going back and forth for the sake of it. It's normal for them. It's how they interact with each other, and Stiles decided to just be thankful that things stayed the same. He can handle rejection, even if Derek was unaware that he rejected Stiles in the first place. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle it if he lost Derek's friendship, though.

He told Lydia the unabridged version of him saving Derek, while everyone else got the abridged (which excludes the kiss), so he could mope and whine about all of his unrequited love woes to her. She wasn't very sympathetic, and seemed to be under the illusion that Derek actually _liked him back_. It was laughable, the idea that Derek could have a crush on Stiles. He was still baffled that Derek even tolerated him.

Scott hadn't been around much since that night, understanding that Stiles needed some time to himself without having to hear about Scott's very successful relationship with an actual beauty goddess. He texted him, making sure that he was okay and asking about homework a few times, so it wasn't like he'd cut off all contact.

His dad was downstairs, eating a salad instead of the supreme pizza he was trying to order and watching baseball, and Stiles was reading out of his second spellbook. His lessons with Deaton were going really well, and Deaton was surprised that Stiles was able to pull off such a high caliber trick on Derek. He said that something like that would have normally taken months of practice, and Stiles tried not to preen too much at the compliment. He'd totally failed, but at least he could say that he made an effort.

The doorbell rang, and Stiles snapped his book shut. He could hear his dad pause the game and get up off the couch, walk over to the door and open it.

There was a loud crash and a thud, and Stiles jumped off of his bed and dashed down the stairs. His dad wasn't by the door, so Stiles ran outside and looked around frantically, the darkness making it hard to see. "Dad?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

No response. Stiles ran back inside and moved to close the door, but stopped when he saw faerie dust on the doorknob. He used the wood part to slam the door shut and ran back up the stairs, grabbing his cell phone off of his desk and dialing Derek's number in a panic. He answered on the fourth ring, with a short, "Stiles."

"Derek, my dad, he's– they took him, and I don't know what to do, and there's no sign of him anywhere and there was faerie dust on my doorknob–"

"Stiles," Derek cut him off. "Calm down. Your dad is going to be fine. I'm on my way right now. Do you need me to stay on the line with you until I get there?"

Stiles gulped in a breath and shook his head, forgetting that Derek couldn't see him. "No," he weakly said.

"Alright, then. I'll see you soon," Derek responded, then hung up. Stiles paced by the front door while he waited for Derek to show up, trying his hardest to keep it together. He grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen to open the door and he wiped off the doorknob.

Derek got there ten minutes after he got off the phone with Stiles, out of his car and stalking towards Stiles faster than he could keep up. When he approached Stiles, he didn't hesitate before wrapping him up in a hug, squeezing tightly. Stiles froze before squeezing back just as hard, breathing a little easier. There wasn't anything special in Derek hugging him. It was just an instinct, a need to comfort his pack, but Stiles leaned into the touch anyways. Derek's scent was soothing, and Stiles breathed in deeply, not even caring that he was being a creeper. There was no shame in smelling people.

When he pulled away, he kept his hands on Stiles' shoulders, looking him in the eye as he said, "We're going to go to Deaton and ask him what to do, then we're going to save your father. I already called the rest of the pack, they're searching for him now. He'll be okay, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, swallowing, and walked to the passenger side of Derek's car as Derek got in the front. He was seeing spots and couldn't figure out why, until he looked down at his hands and saw how badly they were shaking. He knew what that meant, he wasn't new to having panic attacks, but he just didn't have the time to break down right now. Too many people's lives were depending on him taking down the Queen, and he couldn't be breaking down every five minutes if he wanted to save them. If he didn't get there and do the ritual correctly, he could lose everything all at once.

And that thought didn't do anything but freak him out even more. He couldn't fuck this up or everyone he loved would suffer for it, and that was terrifying.

It felt like something was trying to rip through his chest, claw right through his ribcage. He was shaking all over from the pain of not being able to breathe, and he couldn't even do the breathing exercises his therapist taught him when he was younger, because he couldn't focus on them long enough for them to work.

"Stiles!" Derek shouted, sounding like it wasn't the first time he'd said Stiles' name. "You need to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick."

"What..." Stiles choked out between breaths. "You afraid... I'll mess up... your dickish car?"

"Unbelievable," Derek muttered amusedly under his breath, shaking his head. "Even now, you're still being a snarky little ass."

Stiles didn't respond to that, still catching his breath. He always felt terrible after having a panic attack; his movements were jerky, breathing was nearly impossible, and everything was blurry and off. Talking seemed like a chore right now, so he leaned back, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing exercises. Derek started the car and began to drive. Music was playing softly, so quiet that Stiles could barely hear it over his breathing. Which, given that he was breathing like he'd just ran a marathon, wasn't saying much.

Deaton was waiting for them when they pulled up. Stiles was pretty sure Derek called him to let them know that they were coming, because he had a bag of mountain ash and the old book with the ritual in it waiting for them inside.

"Read the spell exactly as it is in the book. Don't deviate from the text, or the ritual won't work," Deaton instructed as he handed over the materials.

"Am I even ready to be doing this?" Stiles asked. "I've only known about the Spark for a month. I don't even know _what_ it is that I'm _doing_."

"You are the most capable for the job," Deaton replied. Stiles wanted to throttle the guy, because what the hell kind of answer is that? Just because he was the only one that _could_ do it didn't mean that he was ready.

"You know what? Let's just go, I don't have time for this," Stiles growled, walking out of the building without a backwards glance. He could tell that Derek was trailing behind him, watching him, but he didn't acknowledge it.

He got in the car and tossed the materials for the ritual on the ground. Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a sharp breath. Derek got in next to him, but didn't start the car.

"Are you gonna start the damn car?" Stiles snapped. His dad could be being tortured to get back at the pack, for all they knew. They were going against the Queen of the faeries, someone who was literally made of fire, and the pack was probably going to have to fight her without the use of magic, because Stiles didn't know if he was going to be able to do this ritual. They hadn't even gone over it; Deaton just handed him the materials and sent him off. Was there a certain way to pronounce the words that he didn't know of? Was there a certain place to start drawing the symbol, like top to bottom, maybe bottom to top? If he did something backwards, would the effects be reversed?

"Stiles," Derek started quietly, "you can do this. I'm not good with these things, but... I've seen what you can do. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you."

"That was desperation, Derek! That was me, watching you _die_ –" Stiles choked. "You... I– I _couldn't_."

"You're desperate now, aren't you? To save your father?" Derek asked. Stiles wanted to scream, because Derek just didn't _understand_. He couldn't do it, wasn't good enough to do it. He nodded anyways so that Derek wouldn't push it. "You just have to believe that you can do it, Stiles. No one can do that for you."

"Just drive," Stiles mumbled, spent, leaning his head against the window. Derek stared at him for a minute, looking like he wanted to say more, but thankfully decided against it and started the car.

***

He could do this, he told himself, taking Derek's advice. He could save his dad and take on a faerie queen with only a month of training that mostly consisted of making things float and glow. No big deal.

The pack stood outside the mountain ash barrier, and he was inside, alone with the queen. They had already found her when Stiles and Derek got there, and all they had to do was trick her into stepping into the unfinished mountain ash circle, which was no easy feat. Scott was, surprisingly, the one who finally got her to rise to the bait, backing up as she walked forward, and Allison quickly closed it up behind her. Stiles took that as his cue, and he stepped inside. Everything outside of the circle became muffled, like glass separated him from the rest of the world. It was unnerving.

"So, what? You think you're gonna kill me, Stiles? You? What can you do, huh? You're in way over your head, admit it," Orlaith taunted, smirking to mask her fury. Stiles knew what she was doing; his dad was a cop, after all. He'd seen the same thing done more times than he could count.

"Oh, I _know_ I'm in over my head. I have _no idea_  what I'm doing. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Stiles shot back, opening up the ritual book to the marked page. "I work best when I don't know what to do. Your intimidation tactics aren't going to work on me, not when I'm this pissed off, so you might as well try something else."

The Queen bristled, her jaw clenching, and she didn't respond. Stiles watched her for a minute, biting his lip, then turned his attention back to the book. He picked a stick up from the ground and, with a sweaty palm and shaking fingers, began to draw the symbols into the ground.

"What are you doing?" Orlaith asked, stepping forward twice, and roots came up out of the ground and wrapped around her feet, _holy shit_. Her fiery skin wasn't even burning through them. Perks of magic, he guessed, science didn't work the same way. And, of course, the mountain ash circle kept her from using any of her _own_ magic.

Stiles chanted the words, at first with a trembling voice, then as he read further, his voice grew more firm. As he read, the symbols he'd drawn in the dirt started to glow, and Orlaith began to scream in anger and pain.

As he chanted the words, he forgot that the pack was outside of the circle, so focused on the ritual that everything else turned to white noise. He felt powerful, like he was sucking up energy and not letting any out. Nothing else mattered except the words on the page. The muffled voices screaming at him to stop, the harshly blowing wind, the branches snapping off of trees, none of it.

He thought this up until he was knocked to the ground, the breath pushed out of him. When he turned around, Derek was on top of him, breathing harshly.

"What," Stiles said.

"Oh my god," Derek muttered, leaning his head on Stiles' shoulder for a second, breathing him in. Stiles would've thought it weird if he didn't know that it was a werewolf thing. "I shouldn't have made you do that, shit."

Derek got off of Stiles and hauled him up. Scott immediately ran over and wrapped him in a tight embrace. He did the same thing that Derek did to Stiles' shoulder, though not as long, and pulled back.

"Dude, you are _not_ doing that again!" Scott shrieked, and Stiles didn't argue. He looked to the spot where he was standing when Derek knocked him down, and a long, thick fallen tree was in his place. When Lydia and Allison wrapped their arms around him, he still strared at the spot, wide-eyed with an open mouth.

Lydia put her hand on his chin and closed his mouth. "Let's not make this a habit, I won't always be here to close your mouth for you."

"What– I did that?" Stiles asked, pointing a shaky finger at the tree.

Scott answered enthusiastically, "Yeah, man, you did that, and a whole lot of other weird shit. Branches were falling, the wind was blowing like crazy, the ground was shaking–"

"Scott, honey," Allison gently cut him off, and Stiles was appreciative. "Give him a minute."

"Oh. Sorry," Scott replied, directed more towards Allison than Stiles. She patted Scott's back.

"How– the mountain ash circle?" Stiles asked. He wasn't sure what exactly his question was, but Erica still had an answer.

"A branch fell on it, and it broke. That's why loverboy here could swoop in and save your damsel ass," she answered, pointing towards the line of ash, where Stiles and the queen–

Oh, _shit_.

"Where's the queen?" Stiles asked urgently, hoping that maybe they magically transported her to Deaton's, somehow. He lost all hope of that being the case, however, when met with blank stares from everyone.

"Well. Shit," Isaac said, voicing Stiles' thoughts exactly. The frayed and burnt ends of the roots that had held Orlaith down stuck up from the ground, and Stiles fell to his knees, overcome with defeat and exhaustion.

"Oh shit, my dad," he whispered, hunching in on himself and pulling at his hair roughly. The queen was surely going to kill his dad now, if she wasn't already planning on it. He'd tried to kill her, and now his dad would suffer for it. The only parent he had left, the only _family_ he had left was going to die, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

He was vaguely aware of everyone watching him with worry, probably hearing the spike in his heart rate, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. His dad was going to die, and it was going to be his fault.

Stiles' breathing started to become more rapid, and his whole body began to shake. He fell down onto all-fours, panting and choking in a failed attempt to suck in oxygen.

Shit like this was why his dad was going to die. He couldn't keep himself together when he needed to, when people's lives depended on him. When things started to get hard, he couldn't go five fucking minutes without breaking.

"–iles! Stiles, dude, breathe!"

He tried to inhale, and ended up coughing roughly. He tried again, listening to Scott count out his breathing exercises and following along, let Derek's strong hand on his back anchor him.

When he was finally able to breathe again, he was almost sure that he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, or maybe too much of it in quick succession. Either one seemed possible.

"Are you okay, dude?" Scott asked, eyes wide. Scott was there after Stiles' mom died; he knew how bad the panic attacks could be. He knew that sometimes, Stiles still felt like he was having one even after he could breathe properly again.

"Yeah, I'm–" Stiles paused. "I will be."

As Stiles regained his strength, Isaac and Boyd volunteered to look for Orlaith. Everyone else stayed with Stiles, waited for him to be able to stand up. His limbs were still shaky, and he wasn't sure if it was just the panic attack, or if maybe the spell drained him.

As Stiles sat on the ground, Erica piped up, "So, Derek, why didn't you just kiss him? It worked when Lydia did it."

Derek stared at Erica, a mix of fury and embarrassment clear on his face in the way he clenched his jaw and his cheeks colored. Stiles didn't recall telling anyone about that, but one look at Lydia told him that she was guilty. "Erica. Shut up."

"What?" Erica asked, mock-upset. "He would've enjoyed it, and god knows _you_ would have."

Stiles flushed red and Derek turned even redder. He growled and flashed his eyes at her, and she closed her mouth, but the smirk didn't fall off her face.

Stiles was about to try to get up when a howl ripped through the air. Everybody's heads snapped towards the direction it came from, and Erica stood up and ran off, shifting into beta form.

"They're at the nemeton with the queen," Lydia blurted, clenching her eyes shut. "Your dad's there too, Stiles."

"Is someone about to die?" Allison asked, voice tinged with worry.

"I... I don't know," Lydia replied. "I think," she bowed her head, speaking quieter, "I think there's a possibility."

Stiles began to stand up on shaky legs, only stumbling twice. When he was finally standing, he started walking in the direction of the nemeton.

"Stiles, wait! Where are you going?" Scott asked. He stumbled over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him and turning him around.

"To France, Scott," Stiles sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to the nemeton to save my dad, dude!"

"You're not doing the ritual again, Stiles," Derek argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'll figure something out!" Stiles shouted. "I don't care what you guys decide to do, I'm going to go save my dad."

And with that closing remark, he walked off, navigating his way around trees and roots, heading in the direction that he could feel the nemeton's energy.

"Stiles, wait!" Lydia called. Stiles took a deep breath and turned around. Her eyes were rimmed with tears that looked ready to fall. "I'm going with you."

"You don't have to, Lyds. I'll be okay," Stiles protested gently, shaking his head.

"I know that, idiot. I'm going anyway," spat Lydia.

"I'm going, too," Scott agreed.

"Yeah, so am I," Allison said.

"The rest of the pack's already there. I was planning on going either way," Derek muttered.

Stiles gave them all a small smile. "Well, let's go."

***

"So, come to join the party?" Orlaith asked when they approached. Her skin was burning bright, flaring up along with her hair, and Stiles was hoping that she didn't catch the trees on fire.

His dad was slumped over, unconscious, leaning against the stump of the nemeton. From what Stiles could see, he didn't look injured, and having supernatural friends that could hear heartbeats and literally sense death, meant that he would know if his dad was dead. Plus, he could see his chest rising and falling, so. Yeah, not dead.

Erica had Boyd's head in her lap, snarling at the queen with her fangs out, and Boyd had healing burns along his arms and on his face. Isaac was next to them, his leg bent at an awkward angle, and Stiles almost gagged, because gross.

Most of all, though, seeing his pack in pain and his dad unconscious just pissed Stiles off. It was one thing to kidnap _him_ , but to hurt the people he loved? Not okay.

"What the hell's your problem, dude?" Stiles shouted, vibrating with energy. "Do you get off on hurting people?"

"Yeah, actually, I do, but that has nothing to do with _this_ ," the queen responded, gesturing towards Stiles' dad, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. "This is revenge. Your alpha asked for a war, and he got it. There's bound to be casualties."

Derek growled and moved forward, but Stiles held out a hand, remembering the last time he tried to take her on. Stiles didn't have a punch bowl to pour on her this time. If only he did.

...But maybe he could still get some water on her. Deaton hadn't taught him about making anything other than light, but the basic idea seemed to be the same. Just focus and, bam, water.

And until he figured out exactly how to make water out of nothing, he needed a distraction.

"Scott," Stiles whispered under his breath, quiet enough that he knew that Orlaith wouldn't hear it. "Distract her, I think I've got a plan."

"Why did you kidnap all of those people?" Scott asked.

"Who wouldn't wanna dance 'til they dropped?" the queen laughed, high and shrill.

Stiles blocked out everything else while he focused. The queen was too busy monologging to pay attention to him, so he closed his eyes and focused on his Spark. He could feel the energy thrumming under his skin, more powerful than ever. He should've been drained from the ritual and didn't understand why he wasn't, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He imagined water shooting out of his hands and his palms began to grow wet. He looked down and saw water dribbling down his arms, and he was positive that it wasn't sweat. He closed his eyes and held out his hands, palms facing the queen, and saw the water hit her.

He saw her hit the ground with a scream, and when he opened his eyes, she was holding herself as she rolled around in agony. The water on her skin had the same effects that someone being burned would have. The flame of her skin didn't burn out like Stiles expected, it only became dimmer, the way burning logs in a fireplace did when extinguished.

No one said anything, just stared at the queen's, now still, body. With her eyes closed and mouth slightly agape, she looked like she was dead. Stiles felt sick at the thought that he had killed someone, even if it was to protect the people he loved. His stomach lurched, and he looked away, his eyes landing on his dad.

Who was staring right back at him, his eyes wide. Stiles ran over and dropped to his side, putting a hand on his back. "Dad, oh my god, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I–"

"Kid, it's okay. I'm fine," his dad insisted. Stiles let out a heavy breath, and wrapped his arms around his father, squeezing as hard as he could. The Sheriff returned the hug, a hand on the back of his neck. As they pulled away, Isaac coughed.

"So... Anyone gonna check and see if she's dead?" he asked, holding onto the thigh of his injured leg. "I would, but my leg's a little broken."

Boyd looked mostly healed, though Erica still looked pissed. "If she's not, let me handle the bitch," she bit out, her eyes flashing. Boyd put a hand on her arm, and she looked at him, her eyes softening. She grabbed his shoulders and surged forward to kiss him, so Stiles turned away, giving them some privacy.

"Stiles..." the Sheriff said, "that was amazing. I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first, kid. It's just a lot to wrap your head around."

Stiles nodded quickly in understanding. "I get it, Dad, it's cool. I just... Are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

He began to search for any visible injuries, but his dad shook his head. "No. The last thing I remember, I'm opening the front door, and then I wake up in the middle of the woods in time to witness my son shoot water out of his hands at a young lady on _fire_."

Stiles turned around to look at the queen, Derek and Scott crouched over her having a quiet conversation. Derek, seeming to sense Stiles' staring, looked up and stared back. Neither of them looked away until the Sheriff coughed, and Stiles jumped. Derek quickly looked back down, and Stiles turned back to his father. "Uh, sorry? Got distracted."

"Son, you sure you weren't lying about not having a boyfriend?" his dad asked, a stern look on his face. Stiles' own face reddened, painfully aware of the fact that Derek heard his dad. Erica cackled, and Stiles groaned, embarrassed.

"No, Dad, I don't. Can we not talk about this here? Please?" Stiles begged, giving his dad his best Bambi eyes (he found that they were more effective than puppy dog eyes).

"Fine. But we _are_ talking about it," his dad said, pointing a finger at him.

And talk, they did. After declaring the queen deceased, an action that made Stiles nearly throw up with guilt, no matter how necessary killing her might've been, they went home. Derek drove Stiles and the Sheriff, and if Stiles hadn't been positive that Derek overheard his conversation before, it was clear by his red face and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. His dad filled the silence of the car with questions about the supernatural, namely werewolves, and Stiles answered most of his questions, with Derek interjecting here and there.

They pulled up to the house and the Sheriff stepped out, giving Stiles and Derek some privacy. Stiles put his hand on the door handle, ready to leave, but he hesitated. Should he say something? Ask if they could talk at some point? About what, exactly, he didn't know, but he had to do _something_. "So..." he began. "Thanks for, well, everything. Helping me save my dad and all that."

Derek have him a curt nod, and Stiles sighed, defeated. Why should he mess with a good friendship? They could just both pretend that his dad never said anything, and Stiles wouldn't mention the kiss, and he wouldn't risk losing Derek. Sure, he could barely look at Derek without wanting to confess his feelings, but he would work through it. Giving Derek a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Stiles got out of the car and walked inside, listening to the sound of the Camaro as it drove away.

His dad was sitting at the kitchen table when Stiles walked in, their, apparently, designated place to have serious talks. Stiles sat down, and his dad didn't give him time to say anything before asking, "How long have you had a crush on Derek Hale?"

Stiles choked, coughing out, "I– What? I don't!"

"Stiles, cut the crap. I saw the way you looked at that man tonight, and I saw the way he looked at you," the Sheriff said. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, leveling Stiles with an unwavering stare. "That's why I thought you lied to me, because he clearly has the hots for you."

"Hots– What?" Stiles shrieked, flailing out his arms when he almost fell off his chair.

"Look, Stiles. I'm not going to work out your relationships for you. I'm just saying that _though I do not approve_ of you dating Derek, I'm not going to stop you. You're a legal, consenting adult," his dad said. Stiles gaped at him, fallen silent. "And if the two of you ever finally pull your heads out of your backsides, invite him over to dinner."

"Dad, that's– No. Really? Me? No, not possible," Stiles blurted. His dad rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Like I said, I'm not working out your relationships for you, but," his dad's eyes glazed over the way they did when he thought of Stiles' mom, "that look he gave you, and you gave him? I saw that everyday when your mom looked at me, and probably had it, too."

"So, what? Is this your blessing, or something?" Stiles asked, a warmth surging through him.

"Yeah, this is my blessing, kid," his dad replied softly. Stiles got up and gave him a hug, just because he could. His dad hugged back as best as he could at the awkward angle, and after a few seconds, Stiles pulled away.

"'Night, Dad," Stiles said, walking towards the stairs.

"Good night, son," his dad called. "Oh, and one more thing!"

"Yeah?" Stiles said, pausing halfway up the steps, a hand on the railing.

"Always use protection!"

Stiles groaned, face burning, and ran the rest of the way up the steps, slamming his door when he made it to his bedroom.

***

The next day was surprisingly normal, given everything that happened the day prior. Stiles walked into his room, scrubbing a towel through his shower-damp hair, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. He tossed his towel at his computer chair and walked over to his dresser.

"Stiles."

Shrieking with a flail of his limbs, Stiles turned around to see Derek sitting in his chair, holding his towel up with an unimpressed look. "Oh my god! What the hell!"

Derek stared.

"What are you doing in my room? How long have you been in here? Did you climb in through the window?" Stiles blurted out, willing his jack-rabbiting heart beat to slow.

"You done?" Derek asked, after Stiles stopped talking.

Stiles nodded, wrapping his arms around his bare chest, feeling feeble standing shirtless in front of a literal sex god. He grabbed the first shirt he saw and hastily threw it on.

"We need to talk," Derek said, making Stiles fidget. He walked over to his bed and sat down.

"Um, okay. What about?" Stiles asked, biting his lip.

Derek hesitated, his face not giving anything away. After a few minutes of awkward staring, right when Stiles was ready to break the silence, Derek said, "I remember the kiss."

Stiles blanched, thinking of something to say to keep Derek from killing him. Maybe he hadn't said anything for so long because he was thinking of the most painful way to kill Stiles, maybe he was waiting for the right moment. "I-I am so sorry, I'll quit coming to pack meetings, whatever, just _please don't kill me_ –"

"Stiles!" Derek cut in, and from the look on his face, it wasn't his first attempt. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm not mad."

Stiles paused. "You're not?"

"No. I don't know if you remember, but I gave you my permission," Derek responded.

"Of course I remember, but– Wait. Oh my god, my dad was right!" Stiles shouted. "You like me! Like, _like_ me, like me!"

"That's one way to put it, Stiles, yes. I _like_ you, like you," Derek sardonically replied.

"Oh no, buddy, you're not playing this one off. I can't even begin to understand why _you_ like _me_ , and I'm gonna need a rundown of how that works later, but this is a pretty big fucking deal," Stiles enthused. "Oh, and just to be clear? I like you too."

Derek snorted and stood, stalking– there was no other way to describe his walk– over to Stiles. He sat down next to him and grabbed the back of his neck, inches away from his face. Stiles was happy that he had just brushed his teeth, because he knew where this was leading. Derek stared at him for a minute, drinking him in, and Stiles did the same.

"Stiles," he finally murmured, "can I kiss you?"

"Holy shit, _yes_ , dude–"

Derek cut him off, surging forward and smashing their lips together, and it was _perfect_. Not at first, because Stiles was dazed and didn't think to reciprocate until Derek bit his lip gently, and he kept trying to talk into the kiss, and the lightbulb in Stiles' lamp exploded when Derek traced Stiles' lips with his tongue, but Derek soon shut him up and they sank into a rhythm.

Derek's dry lips slid against Stiles', sticking and catching, and his stubble rubbed against Stiles' cheek, enough for Stiles to know that he'd have beard burn when they finally pulled away from each other. Stiles kept his eyes closed, filled with pleasure, and he gripped Derek's jacket with sweaty palms, pulling him closer. Their noses bumped together as Derek shifted, wrapping a strong hand around the back of Stiles' neck, and his other hand was on Stiles' waist, bunching in the fabric of his shirt.

When they finally pulled away, lips shiny, Stiles' cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily. Derek was watching him warily, like he was worried that Stiles would deny him, and Stiles bumped their foreheads together to soothe his worries, unable to contain a wide grin. His heart was pounding, and he couldn't imagine not being able to do that over and over again.

"Derek," Stiles said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked, "wanna go on a date with me?"

Derek snorted, the closest thing to a laugh Stiles would probably ever get, and nodded. Stiles grabbed his hand and brushed his thumb over the back of it, and Derek leaned forward and kissed the tip of Stiles' nose.

***

"Seriously, Stiles? Are we still on this?" Derek groaned frustratedly, throwing his head back against the headrest.

"Yes! I need to know, dude!" Stiles yelled back, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to fully face Derek.

"You're infuriating," Derek growled. "And quit calling me dude."

"Oh, like you're any better," Stiles retorted, rolling his eyes. Who was Derek to talk? Half of everything he said was an insult in some way.

"No. That's the first reason," Derek said.

Stiles gave him a look. "The first reason is because I'm infuriating. You like me because I'm infuriating."

"Yes. Is that not a good enough reason?" Derek asked, meeting his eyes.

"No, Derek, it's not. People don't like other people just because they're _infuriating_. Which I am not, I'll have you know."

Derek sighed. "Can you just let me finish, Stiles? You're the one that asked."

Stiles waved his hand. "Fine, continue. I won't interrupt."

"Sure, you won't," Derek muttered with a shake of his head. Stiles chose to ignore the comment. "I like you because you're infuriating. You always have to challenge me somehow. It reminds me of how my mom and dad were when I was younger. My dad used to put my mom in her place when her status as alpha of the pack got to her head.

"You're hyperactive, and you never shut up. I had to live with silence for a long time, and sometimes your rambling isn't so bad. Don't let that get to _your_ head, you're still annoying."

Stiles squeaked indignantly. "I am not annoying!"

"You said you wouldn't interrupt me," Derek reminded him. Stiles glared.

"Fine. I'll let you finish. I know how hard it must be for you to talk about _emotions_ , since you don't want anyone to think you have any," Stiles quipped back, crossing his arms. He was _not_ annoying.

"I don't find this hard at all," Derek countered, and Stiles snorted.

"Yeah, right."

Derek rolled his eyes and continued, "You're loyal to your dad and to the pack. I know that I could trust you and you wouldn't use that trust against me."

Stiles tightened his jaw, thinking about looking into spells that could raise Kate Argent back from the dead just so he could kill her all over again.

"You're willing to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. You're braver than anyone I've ever met, even when you're terrified half of the time. You don't hold a grudge against Scott, even when he spends most of his time with Allison. You talk to Erica; I don't know how you do it, because she's even more infuriating than you," Derek said, not hesitating between answers. Stiles felt his cheeks steadily growing redder with every response.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You can stop, now," Stiles cut in as Derek opened his mouth to give yet another reason.

"Whatever. You asked," Derek shrugged.

"Yeah, and if I knew you were gonna say all _that_ , I wouldn't have bothered," Stiles responded. Derek turned to face him, a small smile on his lips, so small that it would go unnoticed if Stiles wasn't always looking for it.

"You're not very hard to look at, either," Derek told him, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other.

"Oh, okay. Says the living, breathing Adonis next to me," Stiles said.

Derek didn't reply, instead leaning forward and cupping Stiles' cheek, pressing their lips gently together. As he pulled away, Stiles chased his mouth, wanting to deepen the kiss.

"What– No! Why aren't we still kissing? That was a bad idea, Derek, probably the worst you've ever had," Stiles protested, leaning forward.

"I'm taking you home," Derek said, starting the engine, and Stiles harrumphed.

"I take it back. _That's_ the worst idea you've ever had," Stiles said.

"Sorry, Stiles. I don't put out on the first date," Derek responded with a sly smile. Stiles groaned, ever the sexually frustrated teenager.

"What about the second date?"

"Maybe," Derek replied. "Depends on what kind of mood I'm in."

"Well, I'll just have to make sure to get you in the mood," Stiles said suggestively. He thought for a minute, then said, "Does skinny dipping sound like a good second date?"

***

"So, are you and Derek...?" Scott trailed off awkwardly as he walked into Stiles room.

"Boning?" Stiles suggested, and Scott scrunched up his nose. Stiles didn't even feel bad, having listened to Scott talk about his sex life for years when Stiles' own was nonexistent. Well, technically, it still _was_ nonexistent, but hopefully not for long. "Not yet. Derek said he, and I quote, 'doesn't put out on the first date.'"

"But you two are dating?" Scott questioned. When Stiles shrugged, Scott grinned and clapped him on the back. "I'm happy for you, dude."

"I'm happy for me, too. Now, what did you actually come over for?" Stiles asked, cutting straight to the point. He walked over to his bed and flipped down on it face first, and Scott sat in his computer chair.

"What, I can't just come over to hang out with my bro?" Scott asked, mock-offended.

"You have a date with Allison tonight, dude. You haven't shut up about it for a week," Stiles explained, voice muffled by his mattress. He turned his head to face Scott. "So, what's up?"

"Deaton wanted me to tell everyone that the Fae Folk are leaving. They signed a peace treaty with us and everything," Scott informed Stiles.

"And they aren't mad that we killed their queen?" Stiles asked.

"Nope," Scott replied, "Apparently, she was kind of an asshole."

"...So they were okay with her getting murdered," Stiles deadpanned.

"They really didn't like her. Not many of them were okay with the whole kidnapping people thing," Scott said.

"Wow, okay," Stiles snorted. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled around for it, pulling it out to see a text from Derek. He grinned, opened it up and read it.

_We still on for tonight?_

Scott was saying something, and Stiles nodded and made a noise of agreement as though he were listening while he typed out a response.

_you know it. dnt 4get ur towel. and dnt bring a bathing suit. it wnt b necessary._

He stared at his phone, waiting for a response. Scott stopped talking, so Stiles made another noise of agreement, and Scott continued.

_We're not going skinny dipping, Stiles. I've already made other plans._

"Stiles!" Scott shouted, catching Stiles' attention. He dropped his phone and looked at him, eyes wide.

"What?" he asked innocently, pulling out the Bambi eyes.

"You haven't been listening to anything I've said, have you," he said, more of a statement than a question.

"Not in the past five minutes, Scotty Boy. I'm very, truly sorry," Stiles apologized, not-so sincerely. Scott rolled his eyes, and Stiles laughed. "I don't even feel bad, dude. You do this to me every day."

"I do not!" Scott protested. Stiles stared him down, and he finally conceded with a sigh.

"Okay, yeah, I do. I can't help it, though! She's just so..." Scott trailed off with a dopey sigh.

"Allison?" Stiles suggested, because that's what he finished with every time this happened, and Stiles didn't want to have to sit there and wait for him to get the girl's name out.

"Yeah," Scott agreed, a faraway look in his eyes, most likely daydreaming about Allison making a bowl of cereal or scrubbing a toilet or something. "She's just so Allison."

"Well, Scott, I hate to cut this short, but you're not the only one with a date tonight," Stiles said, sitting up and rubbing his hands together. It was about time that he got ready, and he didn't want Scott to drool all over his carpet before Derek got here, because he might get the wrong idea.

"Yeah, okay. Have fun," Scott said, standing up. Stiles offered him a wave, and Scott aimlessly wandered out of his room, the lovesick zombie that he was.

An hour later, Derek texted him to let him know that he was out front. Stiles grabbed his keys and pocketed them, jogged down the stairs as he did. His hand was on the doorknob when his dad's voice stopped him.

"Invite him over for dinner tomorrow night. We're having steak."

Stiles leaned his head against the wood, sighing. "Fine," he said. "But we're making green beans, too, and you're going to have two servings."

He didn't wait to hear his dad's protests. He opened the door and ran out to Derek's car, climbing in the passenger seat with a huff. "You have to come over for dinner tomorrow night, I'm sorry, I'll try to make sure my dad doesn't shoot you but I make no promises, he's really protective since I'm his only kid and he'll try to intimidate you and I know you're a werewolf but it'll probably work anyways because he has a gun so–"

Derek kissed him, cutting off his word-vomit. It was soft and sweet, and he rubbed his thumb along Stiles' jawline, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of Derek against him. Stiles' eyes fluttered closed and he let out a happy sigh from the back of his throat, his mouth falling open as Derek pulled away. "Yes, okay. That's a good way to shut me up. Better than throwing me up against things. No, wait. You can still do that too, I wouldn't be opposed to that–"

He kissed Stiles again, this time firmer, his lips solid where they were slotted between Stiles'. He nipped at Stiles' bottom lip as he pulled away, and Stiles didn't say anything afterwards, staring at Derek in shock.

"It'll be fine, Stiles. It's just dinner," Derek assured him, grabbing his hand and pulling it to rest on the center console between them. He backed out of the driveway, and Stiles didn't understand how Derek was so calm when Stiles felt like his heart was about to hammer out of his chest. "Should I bring anything?"

"Uh–" Stiles' voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "No. Just your hot bod."

Derek rolled his eyes so hard his head followed, and Stiles finally relaxed, a sense of normalcy calming him.

He was sitting in Derek's car on the way to their second date and they were holding hands. They had kissed a total of three separate times, each one with very different emotions attached, and Derek was going to stay for dinner the next night so Stiles' dad could try to make him as uncomfortable as inhumanly possible.

Stiles wasn't in love with Derek, but he was quickly getting there with every sweet word or touch (he never thought he'd describe anything Derek did as _sweet_ ) Derek gave him, every text Derek sent him, every laugh Derek pulled from him. He wasn't in love, but Derek was changing that.

And maybe change wasn't so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the longest fic I've ever written, and it's the first with an actual plot, so I know it's not nearly as good as some of the amazing stories on this website, but I'll get there. Comments and kudos are appreciated!


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